


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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Shelf J3L5.C 5 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



CHIHUAHUA. 

A NEW AND ORIGINAL SOCIAL DRAMA 
IN FOUR ACTS. 



CHESTER GORE MILLER. 

(Dramatic Work, the first.) 



Without money, life is but existence, nothing more. 

I would say that of him who can dissemble successfully-; 
Nature has conferred a priceless gift. 

I do not want my confidence in human nature strengthened, 
for tomorrow would only shatter it. 




'%3a '89/ ' 

3T0W. 



CHICAGO, ILL:- 

KEHM, FIETSCH & WILSON CO., PUBLISHERS 

119 Lake Stkeet. 
189I. 



P5z37f 



Copyright, 1890, by C. G. Miller. 

All rights reserved. 



CONTENTS. 



Preface 5 

Dedication 6 

Dramatis Persons 6 .,,.... V 

Synopsis of Scenes V 

Prologue 8 

Act 1 9 

« II , 29 

" III 55 

; " IV 77 

Epilogue 96 



Note : 



The few typographical and other errors 
that may be found in this book, will be 
corrected in the next edition. 



PREFACE. 



During the winter of 1884, in San Francisco, Cali- 
fornia; the author while reading Deluze's work on animal 
magnetism, first conceived the idea of using the subject as 
a plot basis. The play was outlined and laid away. 
Taken up and completed between the 9th and 23rd of 
December, 1889, in New York City; copyrighted in 
January, 1890, and revised at various times to the present 
form. 

It is true, that though much within 
Resembles much without ; still 
I tried to look beyond the old ; and not 
Intentionally borrowed from about. 

THE AUTHDR. 



DEDICATION. 



To one of the dark agencies of life ; 
I inscribe this epitome of much. 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 



Walter Emory, alias Mr. Sumner of Tombstone. 

John Emory, alias Mr. Bowie of Chihuahua. 

Jackson Fremont, broker on New York Mining Stock 

Exchange. 
Lieut. Ray Silverton, U. S. Cavalry, Arizona. 
Mr. West, Mr. Fremont's accountant. 
Ex-Senator Choate, lawyer and notary. 
Cicero, a butler. 
Mrs. Fremont. 
Hazel Emory, her daughter. 

Lotta Prescott, cousin and ward of Mrs. Fremont, 
Mrs. Kelton, mother of Mrs. Fremont. 
Lady and gentlemen guests, in Act II. 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENES. 



Place — New York City. 

Time — The Present. 
Act I. — Private office of Mr. Fremont, Wall Street. — 
Afternoon. 

Act II. — Drawing room of the Fremont mansion, Fifth 

Ave. — That evening. 
Act III. — Conservatory — One month later. 
Act IV. — The Library — Two months later. 



PROLOGUE. 



In the perusal of this infliction, 

Don't gauge it all as empty fiction; 

But study close and you will find 

Many ideas of a light and darkened kind 

To assert a shape, to design a lesson. 

Take the character of Monte, not universal- 

A direct contradiction of our Nation's motto, 

E Plunbus Unum— Latin— "One of many." 

J his, on the golden and silvered face 

Grace it, we do read it. 

So in life's construction, these very words 

Three only, do we read you on 

The darkened, the brighter and the many surface. 

She is one of many, he is one of. many. 

They the same; nations may be marked- 

Whether for the innumerable multitude 

Of situations attendant on this life 

Of individuals, republics or empires. 

In this prologue, this triumvirate of words 

Is hampered with exceptions: 

For exceptions do claim respect; 

Speaking of one, only one of many a one; 

And this, a singular person, will rise up 
In truth to win an affirmation. 
Thename is genius, here the Latin stumbles; 
Genius, which always remains one of few 
bumner is in the vicinity; 

A master of himself and others: 

Intellectual, ambitious, passionate and cold, 

His mind a practiced reasoner's sway does hold: 

A general in the army of the narrow minds, 

To deceive himself he is not so blind; 

He bargains with success and pays the price, 

Ut the balance, there exist a multitude 

Kindred to their dispositions.- 

Kindly let them go for what they are, 

To brace the principal, not to mar. • 

Now leading man please do not swagger 

When you characterize Mr. Sumner. Neither 

Weary your audience with long speeches 

And lengthy, tiresome discourse; 

For much -herein is writ to cut. - - 



ACT I. 

Scene— Private office of Mr. Fremont, Wall St. 
After?ioon. 

Fremont — Standing at window looking out/ raining 
heavily y wind whistling. 

What depressing effect accompanies such weather; 
Darkened skies ; rain driving in torrents ; wind 
Whistling in mournful sighs down the chimney flues; 
Telling to my imagination sorrowful tales; 
Stories of phantoms; what chilling influences. 
The hour is as an evening one, it is late: 
Four o'clock ; deserted streets ; business about over. 
It was a stormy day quite like this, 
Nine years aofo — that — but why recall the memory? 
What — again! again! — another presentiment? 
When some event 

Unfortunate to our interests has happened, an occasion 
Of by-gone years; some trifling incident or thought, 
Bring back to the memory 
From the shadows of the past a presentiment 
Of the event or events to come. It seems 
Like a grim vision of warning; it startles us; 
Our power to resist its force is gone. 
A dark foreboding, it leaves a deep impression ; 
To shadow our minds; make our rest a troubled dream; 
Our waking moments a misty vision of the near future; 
A nightmare of the dav; snatches of real incidents; 
Fanciful ghosts of idle thoughts; 
A grand conglomeration of everything; 



10 CHIHUAHUA. 

Like a great drama constructed of many ideas; 

Such is its composition : and to the superstitious 

Records an omen and means much; 

To thinking and enlightened minds 

Records but a phase of Nature's queer laws 

And ways yet dark to philosophy, and means nothing. 

Why will the past keep so attendant on me 

To the exclusion of more weighty thoughts? 

What need of this last serious stroke 

Of this mental torturer? — unknown. 

Why will the memory of this long years ago episode, 

Seek companionship with the happier moods? 

Casting a baleful shadow o'er my peace of mind. 

Vague impressions have assailed me the past week. 

Is this the punishment a man who happens once 

To have done a piece of financial work, 

In the light as hardly square, has to endure ? 

Am I weak? most certainly so: 

Yet if I reckon aright, those men history call brave 

Have had their conscience pricked now and then 

By sundry well-nigh forgotten scandals. 

It goes by report that stock brokers 

Have not a conscience, I must be an exception. 

I will once more read over the letter 

That rests foundation to these apprehensions. 

Rings bell — Enter West. 

Fremont. West, bring me the box numbered one, 
On the third shelf to the left. Exit West. 
Again will I attempt to ease a conscience 
Too easily troubled by trifles ; but then what a world 
Of mournful sighs lies encompassed in those words. 



ACT I. 11 

Enter West, with dusty tin cash box. 

West. Here is the box, but laying so long 
Undisturbed by inquiring hands, 
It is enveloped by dust and cobwebs 
In a mantle of dull leaden color. 

Fremont. Mind not the looks West; its color 
Gives to it an air of well kept wisdom; 
Of hoarded treasures of along past period: 
Should custom not to shortly change 
Its burial mode, to consign us to the flames; 
We'll rest under a fathom of the solid earth ; 
Relegated to the long slumbering peacefulness 
Of an evolution from material life 
To flakv dust. What are the latest reports? 

West. Business dull, not much doing. Comstocks firm. 
Oil weak. 

Freniont. Any one in for me? 

West. Only the Lieutenant; I said you were busy; 
he wouldn't waif ; said he might call later, as he desired 
to see you in private. 

Fremont. Call some one, call; Devil you may, 
If you will but liven up this dull day. 
Announce the next. 

West. Very well. — Exit. 

Fremont. What a history this little key unlocks. What 
Unimagined mysteries some tin boxes contain. 
Did their sides speak; what of importance 
They could convey. In this city's social lists 
Many a man rated high, would tremble; 
Did that which find their refuge here, 
Be opened to the broad light of public approval 
Or condemnation, quite usually the latter. 



12 CHIHUAHUA. 

Takes from box a letter. 

An envelope, therein a letter ; 

Yellowing fast with the lapse of years: 

It shows much handling. 

'Tis not the first time I have read it: 

A weakness to be acknowledged. 

Why this subtle fascination ? 

There's little in it, nought but a threat. 

Of no literary value ; 

A like excellence would place the writing. 

But it's connected with a history, 

A link in my life's eventful chain. 

Thus is a letter, a relic, though nominal 

In value : let it but have previous connection 

With a past event of our lives, 

It sometimes is given a two-fold reverence: 

Be its cause for happy thoughts or sad ones. 

Dated nine years ago, — Starts — 

This very day! — 

Tucson, Arizona, Nov. 20 

Jack Fremont: 

For six months I looked for your return; you failed to 
show up. The boy and I left for the North; the Apaches 
got us; he was taken prisoner has undergone the usual 
tortures and is at rest long before this. I escaped to 
Tucson, heard later of your rise through "Epitaph Bill" 
who bucked the tiger in York last winter. So the dis- 
coverer of the Chihuahua was left to die in the wilds of 
the Southwest. You know my record as regards the old 
troubles with others, I have still a notch to make. 
My respects to your prosperity, 

John Emory. 



ACT I. 13 

When last I saw him he counted his notches to a 
dozen. The report which spread abroad that he and his 
son died of fever in Sonora, still holds good; no word in 
nine years. Good lie well told, will a long time roll. 
He must be dead. His wif e now my wife ; I think he 
had his revenge when I married his wife; she is ambitious. 
Some people complain of having a skeleton in their lives; 
I feel at times as though I owned a graveyard. I am too 
weak; but then these mental strokes are frightfully 
realistic. — Knock without, — Come in. 

Enter West. 

West. A Mr. Sumner, asks to see you. 
Fremont. His business? 

West. Says private. 
Fremont. Send him in. — Exit West. 

Enter Sumner. 

Sumner. Is this Mr. Fremont? 

Fremont. The same. 

Sumner. My name is Sumner; and I have a little 
business to transact that may require the limit of an hour. 
Would you kindly grant attention? 

Fremont. The hour, Mr. Sumner, is yours; will you 
remove your coat? 

Sumner. Gladly; bad weather out. 

Fremont, Miserable; have a seat. 

Sumner. Thanks. Now to my mission; it's the relating 
Of a tale, that in justice to my delivery 
You will drink in every word most thinkingly: 
Though passing years mayhap have rusted some your 
memory, 



14 CHIHUAHUA. 

As it is not a likely subject you'd keep polished up 
In memory's storehouse, as for a ready interview. 

Fremont. Continue with the assurance I am an atten- 
tive listener to what you may relate. 

Sumner. This dose may contain some bitterness; 
But mark well my words to formulate reply, 
And let your reason tarry on your answer. 

Fremont. Whatever be the import of your words 
The bearing they carry will receive answer 
Modelled to your text. 

Sumner. It's well. Glancing backward fifteen years, 
the exact date I do not recall; a Pacific Mail Steamer that 
cleared from the port of Panama landed at San Francisco 
one dark December day two men and a boy of nine 
years 



Fremont. Nervously. Yes, yes- 



Sumner. As a poet might say, Mr. Fremont; 
Attune your ears to any new surprise, and 
Let unbroken reel the thread of discourse 
To an end. 

Fremont. Waves his hand to proceed. 

Sumner. They were strangers to the West; having left 
New York six weeks previous; with two objects in view: 
the father in search of health for the boy, the partner to 
seek the golden fleece, and fleeced they were indeed. 
Their names were John Emory, the father; Walter 
Emory, the boy and Jack Fremont the partner. You re- 
cognize the trio? 

Fremo?zt. Excitedly. Yes, and I wish to hear no more; 
what will you have? What is your object in this? And 
with the greatest curiosity I would ask, who are you, 
that you seem so well informed of this past ? 



ACT I. 15 

Sumner. Has Nature so changed in nine long years of 
vicissitudes, hard and bitter fights with adverse circum- 
stances, my countenance; that you fail to perceive some 
mark of recognition? Has your memory in these lapsed 
years so tarnished that you forget one so well known 
before? Walter Emory is the name by which I was 
formally known; and I am here to obtain what is lawfully 
mine. 

Fremont. You lie ! Becoming possessor to knowledge 
of a past episode of my career, you aim to hush a later 
day report. Walter Emory died by Apache torture in the 

State of Chihuahua, Old Mexico. I have the docu 

I have a memory and a good one. You are to me an ad- 
venturer! a 

Sumner. Make strong your accusations as you can; 
I know well just what I know, and barring further inter- 
ruption I will continue. 

Fremont. Silence I say! out of here quietly or I 
shall ring for an oficer. — Rises. — This blackmail shall not 
go on! 

Sumner. Seizes Fremont by the throat and hurls him 
into his chair, fixing ufon ,him a piercing look the broker 
cannot meet. Be resigned Fremont ; keep your nerves more 
quietly employed than worried by opposing me. To re- 
sume, where left I off ? O, where in selected language 
you failed to recognize me. 

Fremont. Aside. I suppose I must hear it all, still he 
looks unlike the boy. 

Sumner. My mother and little sister remained in New 
York, my father intending to send for them as soon as he 
made a stake; but plans don't always pan out. Six years 
elapsed, the Eldorado still continued a vision of the obscure 



16 CHIHUAHUA. 

future of the miner's luck. At last an outfit was made up 
to prospect in Mexico, Chihuahua was reached; and 
there in a far off and almost inaccessible canon in the 
Sierra Madras the lode was struck. The bonanza was one 
of the long lost Aztec mines of which the Indian romances 
tell us. It was christened the " Chihuahua," to honor the 
State that harbored it within its borders. Eureka! we 
exclaimed; our troubles seemed to vanish; gold was in 
sight. Ah, but how frail is the base of great expectations. 
John Emory discovered the lode, Jack Fremont reaped the 
benefit. Stand up temptation and a man, and the former 
seldom falls. With a train of loaded mules, (they always 
are,) each burdened with three hundred weight of high 
grade ore, you left for Frisco to organize a company, float 
the stock, to the manner of the day as now exists on Pine 
Street and the Alley ; return and work the mine and over 
the hoisting works would read the legend " The 
Chihuahua — Emory, Fremont & Co." The discoverer 
and his son remained to guard the fortune found. The 
company was formed ; the stock was floated and disposed 
of by you, not only your shares but those of Emory on 
a boomed market, in the old reliable regulation way 
memorial to Pine Street and the Alley. You neglected 
to return; the deal collapsed; the company became a 
myth; Fremont with the gained capital forgot its origin; 
forgot his partner's friendship, a tie of years; which as a 
rule in such cases holds good; a bond of love and fellow- 
feeling made strong by the long struggle with poverty 
and hardship; sundered it was: my father the rough and 
unknown prospector, sunk in the wilds of a foreign 
land — fortune's rattle — was dropped by his now wealthy 
and former partner; six months travelled on; we left the 



ACT I. 17 

camp; a long journey; an Apache attack ; I a, prisoner to 
eventually escape doomed thenceforth to wander homeless 
and alone a child of fortune, now a man of a like occupa- 
tion: my father was shot dead and left upon the field; 
Fate hurled a parting gift upon him; he escaped the 
Apache tortures, 'Tis not necessary for you to ask what 
'tis I ask; no great financial gifts have yet been showered 
upon me. My claim has all the sweetness of modesty 
tinctured not by unreasonable requests; you are a million 
aire, my share is half ; too little by far in my philosophy 
of the case ; and but a short bit as the price of a father's life, 
sacrificed by the duplicity of a trusted partner; a mother 
and a sister of which I lost all trace though long have I 
sought; the narrative's unreeled. Your answer? 

Fremont. Quite interesting a tale ; who told it to you? 
Your mind has talents more befitting an occupation 
As a sensational novelist; then the lesser dignity 
Of a fortune hunter, capitalled with vague wild tales 
Of a romantic country, lost mines of the Montezumas ; 
Very amusing most enchanting yarn for so dull a day. 
My child I am too old; take one more verdant 
In financial fields than I, or try some one 
More gullible than a broker of the regular board. v 

There's your answer, the door. 

Sumner. Locks door, puts key in pocket. 
Mr. Fremont, favored terms must decide my future. 
Alone in this great city; for New York 
Is a hard place to be in, broke and friendless; 
I would have suffered considerably, 
Did not my valuable watch, in the action 
Of a short remaining duty, i. e. till unwound, 
Repose in mine uncle's safe; and 



IS CHIHUAHUA. 

I swear I'll not hypothecate the ticket. 
So 

Fre?nont. Damn you sir! leave this office, or I will 
call for help! I will 

Sumner. You will be silent. 

Fremont. Now see here, my dear sir; my time is 
precious, you are too important altogether, I can't listen to 
such rot ! 

Sumner. As to my importance you can measure 
Not too closely; as to your time 
You value it beyond its actual worth 
At present or in the near future. Your time to me 
Is mine alone, of which I will profit as I use it: 
For if I see aright, others will push well their affairs 
With you; for this precious time might need to lapse; 
An action time itself is not guilty of; 
But rather of the being who chooses to consider 
Time as his own. As to your title of the history, 
It deserves a better appellation. 

Fremont. You speak as if you would rule my destiny, 
I am unused to dictation from a boy. 

Sumner. One person is often the fate of another; for 
in many ways the present controls the future and vice- 
versa. True I look a boy that's because I shave. So 
you'r a boy, as your reputation goes around the clubs. 

Fremont. Sir! I 

Sumner. Shut up! To the charge of dictation; from 
a dictator it is well to receive it with a bow; but from one 
unused to mastery, the grounds are weak. 

Fremont. This must stop right here, sir! Get out, or 
I shall at the first opportunity give to the criminal court 
an interesting case of a blackmailer wanting half my 



ACT I. 19 

fortune. Ridiculous! preposterous! Where are your proofs 
to this great claim? Go, draw your check on the United 
States Treasury ; draft at the surplus; it's a larger fortune 
and you'd get it just as quick. 

Sumner, For proofs, I have only the exact honesty of 
a related history you know too well. Have you a sheet of 
foolscap ? 

Fremont. Hands him paper. What next? going to 
draw your check? I beg of you one consideration, don't 
acknowledge me plotter in your furtherance of my 
suggestion. 

Sumner. Tears off half sheet, folds in the shape of a 
cone. Yes, a most original check ; a check to sarcasm, no 
longer am I to listen too. 1 shall not risk the law; you 
are wealthy; I penniless; though my cause has an honest 
claim for justice. Were I not schooled in that great virtue 
of policy I would shoot you down, for you murdered in- 
directly my father. In the courts my affidavit would read 
like a romance; no proofs to back it; for the contract 
made at the mine was verbal; consequently no damages: 
therefore I am compelled to be my own lawyer, judge and 
jury. Take of your mental freedom a brief farewell! — 
Quickly draws vial, saturates cone with contents, springs 
on Fremont, grasps his throat, puts knee on chest, holds 
cone to nose. 

Fremont. Stop! What are you doing? 

Sumner. Only applying this sickly fragrant perfume. 
The reason takes^ quick leave when chloroform has the 
call; what more potent drug exists when wanted for such 
a scheme? It was well I was prepared for the out-come. 
When he awakes his mastery will be but mild exertion. — 
Smells cone, staggers back, catches at table, takes long 



20 CHIHUAHUA. 

breath. — Too powerful! — Throws cone in fire. — Its effect 

may ruin the effect for which I used it. — Shakes Fremont ; 

no response; draws another bottle from pocket, and applies 

to nostrils. — Ammonia will revive him. — Fremont shows 

signs of reviving • Sumner draws chair bejore him; 

with eyes fixed on Fremont, and with hand proceeds to 

mesmerise him. 

Now to call into action that power 

So priceless, so terrible. My magic fingertips, 

Fail me not on your sleep producing mission. 

O, most wonderful fascination of the mysterious, 

Stay the throbbing pulse ; lull to rest 

The ceaseless workings of that cowardly brain ; 

And bring unto my orders the talents of its mind. 

Bring subject to my will, his will; 

So it would be a fallacy to state his will exists; 

For it shall soon cease to call that frame 

Its slave, if it ever has ; 

And must own to me I am the master mind. 

Yes with slow but steady progression 

That mind is being tranced; that soul 

Which but a moment past, fired up -at my words. 

Is becoming dead; to replace itself within 

Its palace, a more weakened king; 

When 'tis my pleasure to release it 

From the bondage of my commands. 

O body of Fremont; when you arise 

It will not be by the wishes of your will: 

Though you will speak and act, 

It will not be Fremont; not you alone 

Who enacts the coming drama; only half: 

Your brain's to let; I take possession; 



ACT /. 21 

And for its rental you will claim naught from me. 

How sweet is power to rule the average mind ! 

These symbols of mediocrity to enslave; 

To call their home my home: 

No you'r not the first that's honored me 

With a lease of their fast decaying faculties, 

And has given to me this occult mastery of a soul. 

I have not lived in vain, studied, worked and thought 

For naught; but at this age though young, 

Possess a wisdom of existing things, 

Aged sage alone has right to call his own. 

Had not your spirits been weakened 

By fearful thoughts and weird weather; 

My task to claim your soul, even with the aid 

Of chloroform, would have been more extended — Wind. 

Thanks to your influence, rain, hail and sighing winds; 

You are my fellow conspirators in this somber tragedy 

Yet to be enacted; to right a long past crime. 

Sumner. Applies various tests to show complete control. 
The absence of the will is proven, 
No more his master; Fremont and yet not: 
Fremont in body; Sumner in mind. 
By my authority his mind is blank; 
A lamentable reflection on its strength. 
According to previous reconnoiterings, 
His lawyer's name is Choate; his bookeeper West; 
Including many minor informations gleaned, 
That may partially light the way to a proper 
Consummation of this unusual circumstance. 

Knock without. Sumner gives key to Fremont, who 
now com tletcly under control acts and speaks as Szim?zer 
directs. Sumner steps behind screen. Fremont opens door. 



22 CHIHUAHUA. 

Enter Lieutenant, 

Lieut. Good afternoon, Mr. Fremont. 

Fremont. How do. 

Lieut. Bad weather to be abroad. This is my third 
call upon you today, but my object is such as inspires me 
to defy the maddest storm that ever wet a traveller. I 
wish your decision on a most important matter. 

Sumner. Aside. Silverton! 

Fremont, You are welcome. It's a gloomy day and 
my disposition is in sympathy with the time. But what 
am I to decide on? 

Lieut. Mr. Fremont, to come to the point at once; a 
virtue soldiers should try to cultivate: I love your 
daughter and she loves me; I ask your sanction to our 
marriage. I possess no fortune but my good name; my 
family connections are honorable; my salary is the limit 
of my financial resources: but it is sufficient for two to 
live in a social way that would be modestly desirable. 
My hopes are many ; and should the War Department 
consider favorably my recommendations, you will address 
me captain within a month. 

Sumner. Aside. So I am destined to direct the 
marital aspirations of my friend, the Lieutenant, and once 
again today usurp Fate's occupation. 

Fremont. Lieutenant, my determination regarding my 
daughter's hand would have but little weight. For I fear 
my lease of life is fast drawing to a close. You have my 
consent with all the best wishes of a father; but do not 
take this as a final answer ; seek Mrs. Fremont, and to her 
make known the desires of your heart; for ere long she 
will be sole mistress of a part, of what of me financially 
remains. 



ACT /. 23 

Lieut. Thanks! you have my sincere thanks, for your 
consent. But your words are strange. You surely give 
no thought to death at your age? 

Fremont. I do give death a thought; too many 
thoughts. Can you tell me where I will be just an hour 
from now? No. In this visit here be useful to two ends. 
Will you witness my will? 

Lieut. Why certainly. 

Fremont. I shall draw it up now. — Rings bell. 

Enter West. 
Fremont. West, send the boy for Choate; have him 
bring his seal; the business is important: and West, just 
cash this check. — Writes check. — Bring me the proceeds 
of its face. 

Exit West. 

Lieut. It's not bad policy to prepare the welfare of 
your friends; to die intestate can be most complicating to 
the lawful heirs. The making of a will, is a duty every 
business man should be cognizant of. 

Fremont. Yes, it's a wise precedent. I want no 
quarrels over my property. The honored name of the 
house of Fremont, must be preserved. There's an am- 
bition I have laid the greatest stress upon. In all my 
dealings in a business where much is charged as shad)', I 
can look back on my record as being as square as the best 
of them ; though the favored terms in which I speak are 
of myself, — Knock without. — Come in. 

Enter West. 
West. Announces. Senator Choate. — Enter Choate. — 
Here is the money. — Fremont takes bills and puts in 
focket . 



24 CHIHUAHUA. 

>Fremdnt.' Senator, how -are you? 

Choate. As usual. Yourself? 

Fremont, Same. West, will you act -as witness to 
my ; will? 

West. Yes sir. 

Choate. Ah,- Lieutenant! am pleased to >see you." 
Fremont, if you say same, you don't look same : yon'r pale. 

Fremont. So, well then the truth is I don't feel very 
active and a duty I've considered is the making of my 
will. I shall draw it up at once. You can attest and 
keep possession of the document. These gentlemen will 
witness for it. Its provisions I care to have known only 
to myself. . 

Choate. Proceed, friend Fremont, I am at your service. 
You will now perform a -justice that heirs necessarily 
require from every moneyed man. - 

Fremont. Writes at table. Choate, West and Lieut, 
withdraw to (£.) 

Choate. Lieutenant, you no doubt attend Mrs. Fre- 
mont's reception, this evening ? I wager there will be an 
attraction there you'd not forego for all the honors of the 
service. 

Lieut. Yes, I attend. There's one who draws me by 
the witchery of her. eyes; the gentleness of her voice; the 
beauty . of her face ; the delightful companionship one 
always finds with a lovely woman. For one who has had 
for the last fourteen months, only the dreary expanse of 
an Arizona desert, for the face of beauty ; the hoarse ex- 
clamations of frontier companions for the gentleness of a 
voice ; and the companionship of rough soldiers and cow- 
boys, for the charm of ladies' society; he is soon taught 
to value the length of a leave of absence. 



ACT I. 25 

Choate. Lieutenant, you are young and susceptible ; 
so West? The enchantment of a social existence is made 
stronger to one used to it, and yet deprived of its pleasures. 
When you are old as West or I, the gloss of silver, sheens 
your now dark locks; you may look with happy recollect- 
ions perhaps with a cynic's smile at the memories of your 
younger years. 

West. Just so; profound wisdom opens up to our 
minds as the years roll on ; that is to the thoughtful man. 
And it is a phenomenal contrast between the actions of 
youth and the criticisms that age places upon them. For 
me, give me more age with the benefits time will bring. 

Lieut. Announce not to me what the future may say, 
I care not, I live not, except for today. 
To learn is to suffer 

Fremont. Gentlemen the instrument is finished; 
It is brief, but you know — 
The briefer be the considerations, 
The less there are of cumbersome litigations. . 
Attest Senator. 

Choate. Lieutenant, your name and address here. — 
Lieut, signs.— Raise your right hand. Do you ac- 
knowledge this to be your own signature? 

Lieut. I do. 

Choate. Mr. West. — West signs and raises hand.—^ 
This signature, you acknowledge to be your own? 
West. I do. 

Choate. Affixes signature and seal. 

Fremont. Seals will in envelope and writes^ reads, — 
"The last will and testament of Jackson Fremont. Not tc 
be opened and read until two months from date of my death. 
Signed, Jackson Fremoiut."— Gives envelope to Choate 



26 CHIHUAHUA. 

Choate. .Time yet to deposit it before the vaults are 
closed.. So I will leave you, to meet again this evening, 
when I hope to find you more at ease. 

Fremont. Yes gentlemen, be on hand, we'll make the 
night hours merry. Good afternoon. 

Choate and Lieut. Good day. — Exit. 

West. Any further business to receive attention? 

Fremont. Nothing I think of now. 

West. Then I'll make for home; good night. 

Fremont. Good night. — Exit West. — Fremont sinks 
back ijito chair, motionless. Stunner comes from retreat / 
locks door * looks at Fremont a?id 'points to table — Fre- 
mont takes roll of bills from pocket and lays on table — 
Sumner takes bills— Fremont sinks back into chair. 

Sumner. That comes in conveniently. Interested 
Uncle give to me my watch. Five thousand dollars. 
What power has money to ease the rugged path and 
make light ones many troubles. Without money life is 
but existence nothing more. What danger poverty can 
generate. I can better seek my mother and sister now. 
Silverton said he was going to take me to a reception; 
didn't say where: no doubt the one Choate spoke of; Mrs. 
Fremont's Reception; possibly Fremont's wife! must 
be! then if so it's a most opportune chance for me. 
T'would be a selfish stab at fortune to ask for fairer luck. 
Fremont though not in the usual way you'll prance tonight. 
O senseless form before me, man unmaned; 
Convey to me, and an enlightened world, 
Some unknown wonders. 

Act to me something destined for a futurity; 
Of this awful, this nighted science. 
Make to me, by me and for me, as has been held, 



ACT I. 27 

A representative state in a legitimate way. 

Arise when I enjoin, and issue forth 

The silver flow of language, 

Alike to Demosthenes or Cicero. 

With hand of unnatural nerve, untutored 

By proper guidance; write me 

A Macbeth, a Hamlet or King Lear; 

And blight the name of Shakespeare 

With a more glorious fame. 

Touch the violin and by the act 

Gift Paganini to the present generation. Write 

Rhythmical lines, kin to Byron and to Burns, 

To Longfellow, Bryant or to Gray. 

Can I cause you; poor vacated head, 

Moved by and I, to sway the multitudes 

By command: and let you grace or better still 

Deface a Napoleon's throne, 

And I the power behind it? 

Man of two brains, what is your limit? 

O, what are the possibilities of this age? 

Gets coat and hat, looks at Fremont a moment, motions 
with hand and says — Awake. — Quickly withdraws from 
the room. 

Fremont. Slowly awakes / appears dazed; stretches, 
looks about, suddenly springs up with a shriek. — What! 
alone? What does it mean? Where have I been? Have 
I not just been conversing with a man who calls himself 
John Emory's son? Did he not seize me by the throat 
and attempt to strangle me? — Goes to glass. — No marks! — 
Sees tin box. — Now I recollect! I recollect! I was examin- 
ing the box. Yet I cannot be wrong, some one has been 
here! West! I say, West! — Goes to door and looks out. — 



28 CHIHUAHUA. 

He has left for home. Six o'clock! one hour past my 

usual closing. He should have told me he was going to 

leave; he always does. No doubt he did not wish to 

disturb me. 

Could it have been a dream ? 

Yes, only such: and yet why when Morpheus 

Visits me in the drowsy afternoon hours, 

Must great visions of damnable scenes 

Go floating through my mind? 

A phantasmagoria of fantastic thoughts; 

That take the place of sweeter dreams. 

O, Hell, thy bodily tortures damned, 

Must be mild indeed", in comparison 

To this mental misery! — Sees letter. — You again! 

Why have I kept you to this late date, 

To fret with your fast aging threats? 

This is the end, no more: when you are gone, 

Consumed in flames; my mind 

In more exact and peaceful channels, 

May hold its way. — Throws letter in fire. 

Burn you cause of folly to a fool, 

And in ashes lose the last record 

Of a disagreeable epoch writ of my life; 

That I preserved for use in court. 

Now to dine at the club, then for home: 

May the mirth of the coming night's enjoyment 

Scatter seeds for happier thoughts 

Throughout my early morning dreams. 

END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

Scene — Draining room of the Fremont mansion Fifth 
Ave. The same evening. 

Fremont. Home: a sweet place to call my own; 
To find rest in after running such a gauntlet 
Of storms; the true harbor; 
A haven many possess ; many more seek ; 
And the majority are never fortunate enough 
To call their own. Some without homes 
Have many tribulations; others blessed 
With homes, are often troubled quite as much. 
I rank with the latter. 

Eider JJrs. Fremont. 

Mrs. Fremont. Jackson, how late you are! it is eight; 
I had quite brought myself to the conclusion 
You had deserted us for the club. 
You look weary, haggard, pale ; has anything 
Happened to discord the day with you ? 

Fre?nont. Yes — no — vet not exactly so. 
I cannot explain; my brain's bewildered. 
My thoughts cannot call to themselves 
The usual path of daily existence. 
Today — this afternoon — late ; I, alone 
Within my private office, did have happen 
A most mysterious — well I know not what 
To call it; I may sav with equal truth 
A phantom or a reality : 
So swiftly did the impression come and go. 



30 CHIHUAHUA. 

T'was no less than that long dead son of yours, 
Emory's boy, entered and announced himself; 
Threatened me with vengeance for his father's death 
As though it was I, that killed him — claim half 
My fortune, yours and Hazel's inheritance. 

Mrs. Fremont. Emory! Emory's child, Walter! is he 
alive ? 
At this late date has he returnee, and vindictive? 
Did he ask for me? Are you positive you saw him? 
What did you do? What did you say? 

Fremont. Be not so rapid in your queries : that it was he 
I have no doubt. But that he was there, 
That he did speak to me, and threaten me, 
Is not in my power to state. There lies 
The mystification. That he attempted to strangle me, 
Seemed to me evident: yet when I awoke 
If it was an awakening; the light of the room 
Was fast darkening into night's shadows ; 
I was alone. Everything lay undisturbed; 
I called to West, he had left for home. 

Mrs. Fremont. Jackson, you shame me for you, that a 
dream 
Should unnerve you so: you affect too much 
That unwise past; stop it, see to your diet. 
This report is a travesty on your canity. 

Fremont. So I should judge, a dream; but what you 
Call it, does not make it. I found no marks 
Upon my throat; but for all this bleak afternoon 
It has seemed to me, reason, 

Cool and deliberate left the boundaries of my soul; 
Sentiment took its place; 
And I became as one hypnotized, helpless, 



ACT II. 31 

Swayed and bent as reeds in a storm ; 

The servant of those powerful weakening passions, 

That go tc make up the minds of men. 

Mrs. Fremont. Fremont are you losing your mind? 
You act as terrified as a child in the dark. 
Come, go dress, liven up. 
Cast away that fretful and haunted look, 
As if you saw the ghost of death walking 
By your side. You act strange of late; 
Mumbling along, with bent head and corrugated brow 
Quite like a man of ninety years. 
Your thoughts are not to be valued to the price 
Of their exertion. Leave now be quick. 
Here arrive the hrst guests. 

Fremont. Hands behind back, walking as in deep 
thought. — I do not know. I cannot understand. — Exit. 

Enter Sumner and Lieut. 

Mrs. Fremont, Good evening, Lieutenant, you honor 
us as the first to receive your hostess' greeting. 

Lieut. Rather honor to myself, Mrs. Fremont. Allow 
me, my old time friend and companion, Mr. Sumner. 

Mrs. Fremont. I am delighted to meet vou Mr. 
Sumner. You are cordially welcome to our festivities. 

Sunnier. My happiness to be so welcome, Mrs. Fre- 
mont, is most sincere. 

Lieut. Yes, Mr. Sumner is quite a stranger in Xew 
York; but recently arrived from Tombstone, the famous 
Arizona mining* center. 

Mrs. Fremont. I should judge social life in that far- 
away spot would be found wanting. 



32 CHIHUAHUA, 

Enter Hazel. 

Mrs. Fremont. My daughter, Miss Hazel Emory, 
Mr. Sumner. 

Sumtier. Miss Emory, I am happy to meet you. 

Hazel. Mr. Sumner. 

Sumner. Aside. Emory ! that is a strange coincidence. 
Hazel Emory. 

Lieut. Takes HazePs dancing card and writes. 

Mrs. Fremont. Now with your indulgence, I shall 
leave you to yourselves a moment, so many require a 
hostess' attention. — Exit. 

Lieut. There I am fortified against the rush. 

Hazel. Lieutenant, how prompt you are; excepting 
the Senator you are the first to note a name. 

Sumner. Ah, Miss Emory, am I not to be almost as 
orompt? 

Hazel. Certainly, Mr. Sumner. — Hands card to 
Sumner. 

Su7nner. Starts to write, glances curiously at the 
Lieut. — Aside. — Tendances. — To Lieut. — Lieutenant, you 
are prompt indeed ; had I the fortune to be quite as such, 
I'd value much my bearing with the ladies' thoughts. 
Miss Emory, I'll mark for two; the Moonlight Waltz 
and the Bohemian Square. Thanks. 

Enter Mrs. Fremont. 

Mrs. Fremont. Now permit me, Mr. Sumner, to take 
you with me, and make you at home with the other guests. 

Stimner. Charmed I'd be; with your permission, Miss 
Emory, Lieutenant. 

Lieut. Go, and let me warrant you will never want a 
better guide, a more perfect hostess. 



ACT II. 33 

Su?nner. Your estimate could not err in that. 

Exit Mrs. Fremont and Sumner. 

Hazel. Now Ray, what kept you? I expected you 
today. Forgot me did you not? 

Lieut. Forgot you darling, t'would be better said to 
say I missed I lived, so much more applicable to such a 
charge. I did my best to gain the freedom of the after- 
noon, to make a companion to your sweet company; but 
I ran, and ran, and ran, only to find him at the last. 

Hazel. Found, whom? Who could have kept my 
love on such a fruitless chase? 

Lieut. It was not a fruitless chase, and yet it was in a 
measure of the word; your father was the object of my 
many journeys. 

Hazel. Papa! what could you want with him? so 
urged by such anxiety. 

Lieut. I shall let you guess the secret of this afternoon. 

Hazel. Now Ray, did you? O what did he say? 

Lieut. Told me to ask your mother; and if I am to 
have another such a chase, I'll take you and run off and 
let consent wait upon me after the knot is tied. 

Hazel. Never mind, dear, such a duty is one sweetness 
of courtship. 

Lieut. Yes love, an uncertain sweetness; a sweet 
bordered with a bitter, which might mix and gain for me 
no happiness onlv desperate resolution. Hazel dear, 
though your father denied not his consent, I fear your 
mother will oppose us; financial reasons you know. 
Though not suspecting our love, she will soon reason or 
condemn the fact, when hearing of the future possibility. 
Your father will mention it to her. 



34 CHIHUAHUA. 

Hazel. Don't worry Ray, I shall make it all right 
with Mama. 

Lieut. Yes, in my opinion if all the young ladies could 
make it right with Mama, what a world of gloomy re- 
flections, some young men might be saved. 

Hazel. Quite true. Can Mr. Sumner dance? I see 
he is down for that dreadful Bohemian, in which the 
figures are so hard to remember; suppose he could not, 
just imagine the result of an attempt; I don't believe he 
can, Mama said after you left, that you said he was from 
Arizona. 

Lieut. Now rny darling, don't I dance? and I am from 
Arizona. 1 have never seen Monte dance, but I will 
wager a month's salary he is more proficient in that line 
than I. If he has seen as much dancing with the Spanish 
Senoritas as I have 

Hazel. Ray ! Spanish girls, you 



Lieut. Have seen the boys at the Post do, he will not 
fail you this evening. 

Hazel. I hope not. Isn't he handsome? such sparkling 
black eyes, they seem to look into your very soul, to read 
one's thoughts. He is coming now. 

Enter Sum lie?'. 

Sumner. Pardon, have I interrupted? 
Hazel. Not at all. 

Enter Choate. 

Choate. Found you at last, Miss Emory? Our dance 
is it not? 

HazeL So it is. Senator; excuse me, gentlemen. 



ACT II. 35 

Exit Hazel and Choate. 

Lieut. Well Monte, has our charming hostess made 
the passing moments pleasant? Any hearts seeking 
hope? I swear those black eyes were made for other 
things than mere guidance of the way. 

Sumner. I will flatter myself, my visit has not been in 
vain. Do you know Miss Prescott is a very charming 
girl, a beauty — 

Lieut. Come now, don't lose your heart; give the 
others a chance. 

Sumner. Now old fellow, take a little of that home, — . 
ten dances, — ha! ha! My heart was crushed years ago, 
its passion for affection was blighted; had I one I'd not 
wait to give the others a chance. 

Lieut. Yes I know they are always so; but a little 
more of Miss Prescott's company will make you another. 

Sumner, Possibly. In my introduction to Mrs. Fre- 
mont, it seemed to me I had seen her face before, at some 
time or place in past years. 

Lieut. Quien sabe. She was a widow when Fremont 
married her. Miss Emory is her daughter by her first 
husband. Emory was a mining man and died of fever in 
Mexico, years ago. 

Sumner, Quite a history. — Aside. — Very Coolly. — 
I had hardly exoected to find the man who ruined my 
father, had married my mother, and I a guest at her re- 
ception tonight; that Hazel Emory is my sister. 

Lieut . You are thoughtful. 

Sumner. Oniy a reverie. A thought of the past. I 
had once a very dear friend by the name of Fremont, who 
did me a service I shall never be able to repay; I was 



36 CHIHUAHUA. 

wondering if our host could be the man. Such strange 
coincidences do happen. I've not met him yet. 

Lieut, There stands Mr. Fremont now, conversing 
with Mrs. Madison. 

Sumner. It is he! wonderful! I have fallen amongst 
old friends. 

Lieut. Congratulations extended. Your path to Miss 
Prescott's heart is strewn with roses. Here, I must go, my 
dance the next. — Exit. 

Stunner. So my mother is my hostess'; 
Unknown to her the lost's returned. 
My sister Hazel, that young lady ; and I 
Unknowingly consented to her marriage. 
As for Ray, I'd ask to see no better groom. 
Fremont my stepfather; thanks Fate 
For your kind selection. 
Of such a lovely sister, queenly mother, 
Kindly grandmother I should be proud. 
There can be policy in pride: spare Fremont, 
And to-morrow I'd be escorted to the Tombs; 
I'd lose my grip within a day ; 
Discovery would not be long delayed ; 
Choate would talk to Fremont, if not already. 
It is a peculiar situation, and must receive 
Immediate attention. The end may possibly 
Fulfill the meaning occasioning the act. 
O, not alone the sins but the misfortunes 
Of the father are visited upon the children: 
And often to retrieve the fault, genius and 
Conspiracy will go to risky ends to gain 
A beginning; and those ends are seldom known. 
Now! — 



ACT IT. 37 

Enter Fremont (F). Head bowed in thought, seats him- 
self (L), does not see Sumner; Sumner glides behind 
chair, and begins silent manipulations / Fremont falls 
asleep; Sumner -points (F); Fremont walks there and 
stops, with back to table / Sumner places small vial on 
table in (C) ajid zralks to (L) looking sidewise at Fre- 
mont, zvho goes slowly to table, takes vial and exits ( C). 

Sumner. Within the seclusion of his room he will 
Rest, till such time happens this evening 
To place a desired opportunity within 
My administration. It's a wise child 
That can manage his stepfather. 

Enter Lieut, and Lotta, Choate and Hazel. — Cicero 
crosses back of stage as others enter. 

Hazel. Cicero, let me know when the Moonlight 
Waltz is called. 

Cicero. Yes, Missa Hazel. — Exit. 

Sumner, Come, disciples of Terpsichore, how is the 
evening passing? 

Hazel. Delightful, I assure you. Have you met my 
cousin, Mr. Sumner? 

Stunner. Thanks to the attention of Mrs. Fremont, my 
acquaintance with Miss Prescott, has dated from the early 
evening. I had the honor of the first dance, and it was 
very enjoyable. 

Lotta. Quite so indeed. 

Lieut. But where have you kept hidden? the ladies 
have noted your absence. 

Sztmner. Did the ladies miss me as I have often missed 
them, they would be forlorn indeed. My time has been 



38 CHIHUAHUA. 

the property of your father, Miss Emory. In him, thanks 
to Lieutenant Silverton, I have discovered a friend of long 
years ago. 

Hazel. How romantic, an old friend of Papa's! 

Lotta. Do tell us about it! 

Sumner. I will cry pardon! Let the recital await a 
more convenient place and time, for the tale is long and 
speaks of a generous act, few men are capable of: the 
service Mr. Fremont rendered me. 

Enter Cicero. 

Cicero. Ladies and gemmens de conductah done am 
call de Moonlight waltz. — Exit. 

Sumner. Ours now, Miss Emory. — To Lieut, and 
Lotta. — We will leave you to pleasant conversation or 
follow in our wake as pleases you best. — Exit. 

Lieut. Shall we dance, or have a quiet chat? 

Luotta. I am a trifle tired, I would rather talk for a 
change. 

Lieut. You are of my thinking. 

Lotta. Tell me, will you not feel just a jealous pang, 
just a little uncomfortable, to have so handsome a man 
with one you'll not deny you love? 

Lieut. Non-troubling fancies: suspect Monte, so 
square a friend, of trifling with the affections of one I 
love ; to believe he would seek to break the bond that 
exists between us? No, Miss Prescott; Mr. Sumner is not 
a friend of doubtful tendency. He is one of Nature's 
noblemen; an honest generous man; a man of the world; 
one who by force of circumstances has had to suffer and 
endure: he has passed through great trials, though I know 
little of his history. 



ACT II. 39 

Lotta. Is he not cynical? I remarked what appeared 
such expression flit across his countenance, once this 
evening; when he spoke of friendship and the value he 
placed upon it. 

Lieut. Men who have experienced the ups and downs 
of life, are to a degree the servant of unfeeling thoughts. 
Yet I have known when times were the hardest his levity 
was greatest. 

Lotta. Has he parents living? 

Lieut. I understand he has no near relatives. 

Lotta. How sad, and he has had to fight life's battle 
alone? 

Lieut. Yes and won, for he is quite wealthy ; specu- 
lates in mines; has an interest in many Mexican lodes. 

Lotta. Then he is fortunate; his occupation is much in 
keeping with his dignity. 

Lieut. By the way, I believe you said he was handsome ? 

Lotta. Why yes, don't you think so? 

Lieut. He has a like opinion. 

Lotta. Of himself? did he ever say — 

Lieut. No, of you. 

Lotta. You don't mean — did he really— - 

Lieut. Just what I said. Here comes Grandma. 

Enter Mrs. Kelt on. • 

Mrs. Kelton. Enjoying yourselves, children? 

Lotta. Yes indeed, Grandma; but did I not see you 
dancing the minuet with Mr. Powers? how could vou 
be so giddy? 

Mrs. Kelton. O dear me, and why not, pray? I ab well 
as you? I am spry yet, my dear, if it was sixty odd years 
ago I danced the minuet at Andrew Jackson's Inauguration 



40 CHIHUAHUA. 

Ball. Yes, dear, though I am close on to eighty 
years, I can still do my part when called upon by such a 
courtly gentleman of the old school, as Mr. Obadiah 
Powers. 

Lieut. If we, Miss Prescott, fifty or sixty years hence 
can do as much, it will show the sophistry of the pessi- 
mists who entertain notions of the decay of longevity in 
the present state of society. 

Mrs. Kelton. You are right, Lieutenant; we then lived 
just as high and had quite as many luxuries as you folks 
of this later generation, yet we lived, and you will do as 
well. 

Ejiter Mrs. Fremont and Sumner. 

Mrs. Fremont. Mother, resting from the dance? 

Mrs. Kelton, Yes, daughter, I enjoyed it exceedingly; 
it took me back just sixty years. 

Sumner. And let me add, I did not see more happy 
grace and perfect motion mid all the beauty of the room, 
then Mrs. Kelton did add to the minuet. 

Mrs. Kelton. Then we all are happy. 

Sumner. Now, Miss Prescott, the next is ours, allow 
me, my arm. 

Lotta. With pleasure. 

Sumner. With your permission, ladies, Lieutenant ? 

Exit Sumner and Lotta. 

Lieut. My partner too, needs be found; is now await- 
ing me. — Exit. 

Mrs. Fremont. This young man seems to carry well 
his part; of most agreeable manners for one whose life 
has been spent on the frontier. 



ACT II. 41 

Airs. Kelton. There can be gentlemen on the border. 
I believe I've seen, that face before, but where? 

Mrs. Fremont. So to me, his features make mention 
to my mind, of one at some time met; yet meeting so 
many, don't tend to good memory. He is the gentleman 
Lieutenant Silverton, asked me yesterday if I would 
introduce to our circle; he's reported rich. 

Mrs. Kelto?i. Where is Jackson ? I have not seen him 
on the floor to-night; many have asked for him. 

Mrs. Fremont. Don't speak of him, he's lost his nerve, 
and yet says he is a man. He returned from the office 
frightened by a dream ; I believe the man is losing his 
mind. He walks the floor at night for hours; most try- 
ing recreation to my nerves: talks in his sleep; complains 
of specters and fears, that make his peace a fight for 
more quiet thoughts. 

Mrs. Kelton. What is the cause? 

Mrs. Fremont. O that old trouble; he fears 
A mysterious vengeance of that husband of mine, 
That died years ago. He robbed Emory 
Of his rightful share, as you well know. 
That's a past to which no remedy can apply ; 
A private history to be lost. 
I loved Emory; if love is liking lightly; 
But what gave he to me in ten years 
Of married life? The troubles of a humble wife 
Of a still more humble husband. Fremont made me 
Socially. What is life to live as I then lived? So lowly, 
So unknown, and I ambitious. If Fremont 
Was smart enough to get the money and keep it, 
'T was his fortune : You know my determination, 
Hazel or Lotta shall never marry but for gold. 



42 CHIHUAHUA. 

I've experienced too much of genteel poverty 

To sink them into loving arms, backed 

By empty purses. I've no respect for the man 

That is a man; and does not make his way. 

How he makes it, I'd not inquire into; 

So he makes it and keeps it. 

A man of any brains has no business to be poor. 

Many a great fortune has dark shadows over it: 

But the possessors should keep it darker. 

I tell you Jackson is weak; he is one of those 

Who has done an unprincipled act, and when 

Long past, must shudder o'er the remembrance. 

The date is late to mend the past 

I would not, could I. 

Emory and the boy are dead, forget them. 

Mrs. Kelton. Come, don't excite yourself or you will 
have a return of your spells. My opinions differ but it is 
not for me to argue dead issues of the Fremont family; 
you had better find Jackson and cause him to appear, his 
absence is noticeable. 

Mrs. Fremont. He is no doubt in the smoking room. 

Mrs, Kelton. I will go into the library to rest and 
think. Such a multitude of memories you have brought 
about. — Exit. 

Enter Choate. 

Choate. My entertainment is in your care this evening, 
and permit me to say, I am having a delightful time. 

Mrs. Fremont. You look your words, Senator, and I 
am pleased; the evening is a great success. 

Choate. But I have not seen Mr. Fremont, to-night, 
where can he have kept himself? 



ACT II. 43 

Mrs. Fremont. I saw him in the hall a short time ago, 
he complained of not feeling well. 

Ckoate. What! no better? I wished him jollier wits 
for the evening. 

Mrs. Fremont. You have met him to-day ? 

Choate. Was at his office late this afternoon, on an im- 
portant errand, to attest his will. 

Mrs. Fremont. His will ! he said nothing to me about it. 
He was always very superstitious regards the making of 
such a document until the last moment. I often had 
thought he would die intestate. He is becoming quite 
thoughtful of the future. 

Choate. Strange he did not mention it. 

Mrs. Fremont, Yet hardly so. I have been so busy 
with the preparations for the evening, he no doubt thought 
best to wait till quieter hours to tell me of it. What were 
its provisions? 

Choate. That I do not know. He desired the bequests 
to be known to himself alone. 

Mrs. Fremont. Who witnessed for it? 

Choate. Lieutenant Silverton and Mr. West. The 
will is not to be read until two months from the date of 
his death. 

Airs. Fremont. For what reason? 

Choate. One known only to himself; but then that is 
not in the least uncommon, to delay the reading until a cer- 
tain period elapses. 

Mrs. Fremont. Dq you think his deportment any way 
strange of late? 

Choate. For the past week his countenance has been 
clouded as with a serious subject on his mind ; but whether 



44 CHIHUAHUA. 

the result of business depression or other causes I cannot 
say. 

Mrs. Fremont. He has these melancholy fits periodi- 
cally. 

Choate. Well the effect of a day's trading on the ex- 
change is very exhausting. 

Enter Cicero. 

Cicero. Missa Fiemont, de supper room am ready fo 
yo imspecshum. 

Mrs. Fremont. Very well. — Exit Cicero. — You may 
escort me, Senator. 

Choate. You honor me. — Exit. 

Enter Sumner and Lotta. 

Sumner. Such are the affairs of men ; the variations of 
a career calculated to make any man thus experienced, 
envious of one who possesses a home and friends. 

I^otta. But has not your life had some brightness? 

Sumner. Belieye me when I say to-night has been the 
happiest of my life. I have suffered much; and in what 
few places I have had the fortune to be present where all 
was going merry ; and for the time being I felt a real taste 
of enjoyment; a black cloud was sure to arise to cast its 
gloom around me. So used to it have I become, I can be- 
lieve myself capable of no happiness, but I must surely 
suffer for it. I feel even to-night, a dread as if some- 
thing would happen, I can guess not what, to mar the 
evening's pleasure. 

Lotta. I fear you are too sensitive. I sympathize with 
you. But some of your experiences have no doubt been 
remarkable. Would you mind relating one? 



ACT II 45 

Sumner. For me to relate some of my life's past 
chapters would be to spoil the evening for you; to shake 
your nerves. I would spare you that, Miss. Prescott. 

Lotta. You have known the time you have had no 
place you could call home? 

Sumner. I never knew the actual existence, to me of 
that, which is represented as a home. The world is my 
home. My father died many years ago; my mother when 
I was a child. Sorrowful indeed is the lot of one, who in 
childhood's years possesses not the parent's guidance. O, 
why was I not as fortunate as the thousands around me? 
Xo, I was doomed to struggle alone; and it has been a 
cycle of very bitter years. What! not tears, Miss Prescott? 
Pardon me, I did not intend — 

Lotta. No, no, Mr. Sumner; only when you spoke, 
you unconsciously brought the recital to a simile; for my 
life has been as yours; I too am alone in the world. 

Enter Lieut, and Hazel. 

Hazel. What a charming tete-a-tete Ave must be having. 

Lieut. We've been hunting the supper and ball-room 
for you, in every nook and corner. 

Sumner. And here we're found. 

Hazel. The Lieutenant has been expatiating on the 
beauties of friendship, in which he cites von, Mr. Sumner, 
as an example quite strong in that relation. 

Lotta. We too were talking about home and friends. 

Lieut. I haY'e often wondered who is our best, our 
greatest friend, I mean the friend of friends. 

Hazel. Why, what a question! our parents of course. 

Sumner. That is debatable. 

Lotta. What do you think, Mr. Sumner? 



46 CHIHUAHUA. 

Sumner. You ask mine, tho' I voice opinions, 
Don't call me cynic: 

For I am not alone in like consideration. 
As the Lieutenant holds my due respect 
For he owns it surely, being my close friend; 
And indeed you are all my friends, 
Too valued to be lost; and quite properly 
Exceptions to this radical opinion. 
Friendship has a multitude of temptations. 
This is a weary world, to one in distress, 
To one ambitious; and in a measure 
Of my experience, I have found one 
Who in pleasure, in sickness, or in loneliness; 
And moreover in all the sharper vicissitudes 
And experiences of my life, was always for me, 
And remained my advocate until the last: in fact, 
My friend is the friend of any individual, 
Who will treat this friend with due respect. 

Lieut. To whom do you refer? 

Lotta. Your father, Mr. Sumner? — Shakes head. 

Hazel. Your mother, without doubt? — Shakes head. 

Sumner. If you would know and yet you do, but have 
not made the extended acquaintance I have, and may your 
destiny forbid the necessity. — Takes from his pocket and 
holds aloft a $20 gold piece. — The great American eagle. 

Hazel. Why, Mr. Sumner, what a cynic you are! 

Sumner. There, I knew you'd cry cynicism. 

Lieut. Monte is right, for money will reach where 
friend or parent cannot find a way. I recall an incident 
that happened some years ago in an obscure frontier town 
in Arizona; La Paz, was the place, I believe. Monte 



ACT II. 47 

was there though he did not witness the scene. It dealt 
with this question in a peculiar way. 

Sunnier. I remember the occurrence. — Aside. — I fixed 
the fool in time. 

Lieut. I was sitting in the shade of the east wall of a 
low adobe, about half asleep; Monte had left but a few 
moments before, to go up to the plaza to see a bronco sale; 
when a thin, pale, haggard and roughly dressed man 
approached me in great excitement and cried out: "Keep 
away from him! shun his friendship! he will work you 
for all your worth, and leave you a wreck in body and in 
soul! he's the devil in a man! look at me and learn in 
time! once within his sway, it remains unbroken even with 
miles intervening! so it is with me. I feel his influence 
now, it is coming on again! — I am going! — my mind — r my 
will — my reason!'' — Suddenly, zvith gi-ectt self ftos- 
session. — "This desert has no mystery, allied to this of 
mine. What an actor I've become; two opposite parts I 
play with equal ease. At odd intervals I am a howfing 
derangement; at others, the embodiment of the most tran- 
quil and engaging comedy. Did I call him enemy? I'll 
traitor that assertion and call him friend, of mine, of yours; 
my favorite and most dearest associate; one who loves us 
for our souls, not our visible semblance. Remember my 
second reasoning has more in it than the first. Adios." — 
And he was gone. 

Lotta. The poor man must have been insane. 

Lieut. So I then believed, though his eves were 
rational. It once occured to me that he might have been 
a hypnotic subject. 

Hazel. How terrible! 



48 CHIHUAHUA. 

Lieut. For at that time there was a report among the 
boys, that a tall man passing as a Mexican and with a 
Mexican's eye, had the power and used it: I never saw him 
and he disappeared very suddenly. 

Sumner. I heard later he was killed over a poker game. 
He was trying to influence a player in his favor, but the 
opponent knowing him had a pistol and a will, so finis. 

Lotta. So strange a life; so marvelous a country. We 
meet and miss many a bewildering theme. 

Sumner. And such is life as I have seen it; 
I w»ould venture to state - that 
Expose to the light of vision and knowledge, 
Let stock forth the hidden skeletons in the lives 
Of some of our social companions: 
Then stop and note the result. 
It would stagger the unthinking and confiding 
And strengthen the wildest exaggerations of a cynic. 
Great tragedies are within a short radius 
Of our sight — impenetrable to us: 
Dissimulation shields too well : 
Except when some crisis brings them forth, 
They remain hidden, but rarely suspicion ed. 
Our wdiole social existence is a vast network 
Of hypocrisy: barring that much despised and 
Cried-down talent, life would have but little spice. 
I would say that of him who can dissemble 
Successfully, Nature has conferred a priceless gift. 
Why the weeps of the crocodile in figurative speech 
Do flood the world of eyes, at times: 
Would I be so coarse of fineness of assertion 
To include them all? No; but many eyes 
Do well o'er of the watery hypocrisy, that makes 



ACT II. 49 

The cheeks a river's bed o'er which 

To flow the volume of hypocritical show, 

Seen, called, supposed, as honest tears. 

Tears — better some than none, as goes the occasion. 

Hazel. Some events in your life, Mr. Sumner, must 
have been most severe, to cause you to expound such cold 
philosophy. 

Lotta. Well, you know the time is looked forward to, 
by many, when all things will run smoothly, and all will 
be happy. 

Sumner. The man that hopes for the millennium, the 
great era of universal happiness, has a very poor conception 
of the plots and combinations of human life. He should 
study human nature just a little, and throw in a few 
thoughts on the world's history. 

Lieut . Such is life. It's philosophy and philosophy; 
a creed and a saying; rules, proverbs, commentaries and 
commandments: it's talk and argue; a question put; a 
question answered, sometimes not; without end: we are 
all jumping-jacks to destiny. 

Enter Choate and Mrs. Fremont. 

Lotta. Dancing over? We have been having such an 
interesting little lecture on friendships, dissimulation, the 
millennium and jumping-jacks; the time has passed un- 
noticed: it surely is not late? 

Choate. No, early yet; only an intermission; the 
musicians wish a slight refreshment for their pains. 

Sumner. Quite deserving; a sweet compensation for 
sweet sounds. 

Mrs. Fremont. I am more than pleased with their 
selections to-night. 



50 CHIHUAHUA. 

Enter other dancers, — Exit Sumner unobserved by 
stage. — Enter Mrs. Kclton. 

Lieut. I would say, Mrs. Fremont, that this reception 
will be acknowledged one of the most successful of the 
season. 

Choate. Mrs. Fremont is noted for her success in all 
things social. — Enter more guests. 

Mrs. Kelt on. Senator, this evening recalls old Wash- 
ington days. This, you know is my first winter in the city 
in many years. 

Choate. Then I am sure you will enjoy it, so delight- 
ful is the winter season East. This time last year I was 
visiting in San Francisco, and wonderful climate as it is, 
one misses the romance of the sleigh-bells, snow and bare- 
limbed trees. Evergreens are Nature's fashion in California. 

Enter Fremont, Goes to (L) unnoticed, first acts 
strangely, then performs a grotesque da?ice. In center 
door stands Sumner directing his movements by hypnotic 
power, also unseen by stage / being partially concealed by 
drapery. 

Sumner. Aside. The crisis is at hand. 

Mrs. Fremont. The West is grand, and takes first 
place for scenery of diversified Nature; and that is all: if 
you would live, you must live East. 

Lieut. I disagree with you there, Mrs. Fremonti 
though I have been stationed the greater part of my time 
in the Southwest, I feel calculated from my travels to speak 
of the more northern states. The people of the West 
are like their great mountains, rivers and plains, in using a 
simile; the most open-hearted, generous, frank and social 
branch of the great American family. Society in the 
West, though in its infancy as regards old and conservative 



ACT II. 51 

traditions, is laying a foundation for social advancement, 
culture and progress, that will never be outranked by 
society easLof the Rockies. 

Choate. Yes, I am of Crash. — During last xvords 

of Lieut. Cicero enters with tray and wine glasses / sees 
Fremont / stops, looks on m in zvonder, drops tray as Choate 
speaks. All turn and see Fremont. 

Mrs. Fremont. Why this burlesque! Jackson? The 
ball-room is near and more appropriate to such 

Fremont. Stops short, eyes her wildly. — Silence! 
Would you disturb the last happy hours ot a man con- 
demned to everlasting companionship with Mephisto? 

Mrs. Fremont. Cicero, remove your master, he is ill. 

Cicero. Advances carefully and appears frightened. 

Fremont. Points finger at him and thunders out. 
Black man! ebon-hued slave! 
Namesake of the illustrious Roman! 
(A darkened honor to his memory,) 
Let not your charcoaled hand, rest 
Authoritatively on the sacred person of the white! 

Cicero. Nods head, steps back. — Yes sah, yes sah. 

Mrs. Fremont. Cicero! did you hear me? Jackson — 
Advances toward Fremont, who waves her back. 

Fremont. Woman, use diplomacy; keep in practice 
The master talent of your sex. 
You understand not my mood. I stand 
On the threshold of the unknown world: 
Too long I've lived to suffer a weight 
Of misery, born of an injustice done 
To other men. My liberty at last, O soul 
Of this most racked and tortured brain, 
Fly away to — Suddenly and calmly — what? 



52 CHIHUAHUA. 

The service of the Devil, — Excitedly. 

Who would in the orthodox fashion 

Gather me in to feed the furnace fires of Hell! 

No! no! it is not so! begone evil teachings 

To my youngest years! I am for Heaven! 

I see the light breaking ! my soul is free. — Stops suddenly, 

then very deliberately. 

Here's to you and yours, 

Here's to theirs and mine; 

I know all will join me, 

And drink these healths 

In this royal old wine, 

O, learn to die in time. 
Drinks contents of a vial concealed in hand. — Dies. — 
Confusion. — Exit Mrs. Fremont, fainting, assisted by 
Lotta and Hazel. — Exit Mrs. Keltoit. — Others remain. 
Lieut. To Cicero. — A doctor quick. — Exit Cicero. 

Enter Sumner. 

Sumner. What is this commotion about? What has 
happened? Who did this? 

Choate. Suicide, while temporarily insane — prussic acid. 

Sumner. Ladies and Gentlemen: 
You have witnessed a most tragic episode. 
An incident has transformed this mirthful evening 
To a night blasted by the most terrible guest 
That could visit an assemblage. A visitor 
Always dreaded; usually unthought of; yet 
Has been welcomed: but not this night. 
O, Death, unbidden, — Aside. — Yet I did bid, 
Why will you come unheralded? 
Mysterious personage, what countless shadowy 



ACT II. 53 

Ways you tax the soul, (if there be a soul?) 

With the burden of a flight to the unknown sphere. 

We all in this life's fleeting interval 

Must acknowledge you a power: 

Some here, have no doubt held temporary 

Association with you before. Extending 

Through a most stormy and eventful career; 

Though not in time spanning as many winters 

As has silvered the brow of the gentleman on my left: 

Rcfen'ing to Choate. 
I have observed many heartrending scenes. 
My way has often led me within the circle 
Of solemn sound, tolled forth from many 
A slow-measured and deep-toned bell; 
And as I advanced nearer within the radius; 
I stood at last beneath the vaulted roof 
And sculptured dome of the sacred edifice: 
Environed by that hushed stillness 
That is a respect to the presence of the dead. 
But I've seen no scene, to me so sad as this. 
Once when I was down, a victim 
In the iron grasp of adversity ; verging 
On self-destruction ; the man now inanimate 
Before me, said: "You require help, 
Here it is," an act burnt in my memory 
As with a brand: it left in me a profound 
Feeling of gratitude. Now is a crying moment. 
Here lies my friend, so still: shortly ago 
He walked among his guests honored and respected 
By all; now will elapse the season of a week, 
And he is forgotten to the rushing world about: 
For he was a moneyed man and that was all. To me, 



54 CHIHUAHUA. 

He was a virtuous man; to the world in general 

The same; to himself, to his own private thoughts, 

He might not have known its meaning; 

He may have called it policy. 

His virtues to me were many, and of one, generosity , 

I find with the majority, a trait most scarce: 

To some, that virtue of his so highly 

Thought of by me, might not hold good as well. 

Old friend, may the coming of the blessing 

Of everlasting peace, reflect upon you 

That love of mine, for you; as Death has left 

To me its memory, no longer its application. 

Lieut. Aside to Choate. — Such a scene as we have 
witnessed, touches one's finer and nobler feelings, and 
tends to strengthen one's confidence in human nature. 

Choate. I do not wish my confidence in human nature 
strengthened, for to-morrow would only shatter it: it might 
strengthen it for the individual, but not for human nature 
in general. 



END OF ACT II. 



ACT III. 

Scene.— The conservatory. One month later. Cur- 
tain up on Mrs. Kelt on and Hazel. 

Hazel. And do you think, Grandma, that Mama will 
not recover from the shock ? It is now one month today 
since poor Papa's death. 

Mrs. Keltou. Your mother is seriously ill, my child; 
I fear will go hard with her: ever since that terrible 
collision two years ago, you know she never was the same. 
Dr. Allopath told me yesterday it was an organic affection 
of the heart, and he is treating her accordingly; so here- 
after she must avoid all excitement; but being so ambitious 
she will find it a struggle to renounce the position held so 
long. 

Hazel. O, what can I do? what can be done, to make 
her life a quieter one? 

Mrs. Kelton. I fear nothing; she will have her w r ay: 
but possibly she may realize her condition, and use more 
care. 

Hazel. I do hope so. Tell me, Grandma; what was 
the trouble of long years ago, that worried Papa so? 

Mrs. Kelton. Only some difficulty Jackson had regard- 
ing a mining claim, in which John had an interest. John 
was a good man, but had too much the spirit of the 
w T anderer. Now ask no more questions; it's a past you 
should and shall know nothing about. 



56 CHIHUAHUA. 

Eitter Cicero with card. 

Hazel. Reads. — Mr. Sumner! — Show him here. — Exit 
Cicero. 

Eitter Sumner. 

Sumner. Mrs. Kelton, Miss Emory, I am happy to 
see you. I hope you are both quite well. 

Hazel. Granma is well and I am as usual. 

Sumner. What news from Lenox, is Mrs. Fremont 
improving? 

Mrs. Kelt on. Yes, slowly; though the past month has 
been very trying, she requiring absolute quiet; a month 
more we hope for a great change in her favor. I must 
see to certain household duties, so will leave you for a 
time. — Exit. 

Sumner. And in the interval of time elapsing, we'll 
try and put to good account. Miss Emory, have you any 
recollection of your father, who died in the Southwest? 

Hazel. Of my father I know very little, he left home 
when I was a child. 

Sumner. I knew once an individual by that name, who 
cherished me with a father's love; this was long ago; the 
idea occured to me they might be in some way related. 
The name is not common. And you are the only child 
then? 

Hazel. No, I had a brother four years older, who ac- 
companied my father on his Western tour. 

Sumner. May I ask his name? 

Hazel. His name was Walter, but you would not 
know him, you have never met him. He too died of 
fever in Sonora. 



ACT III. 57 

Sumner, That is indeed sad. Did Mr. Fremont know 
y our father, may I ask ? 

Hazel. Really, Mr. Sumner, you must excuse me, this 
subject is most painful to me; and I can truthfully add I 
know almost nothing of my father's and brother's history. 

Sumner. I must be mistaken ; the one I had reference 
to lived in England; I met him when I was in Liverpool. — 
Aside. -No information there; if all women knew so little 
how sacred would be our secrets. — To Hazel. — I trust, 
Miss Emory, you have taken no offense to my inquiries? 

Hazel. Not in the least, Mr. Sumner. 

Sumner. Then we continue friends. 

Enter Lieut. 

Lieut. Ah! found you Miss Emory; Monte, I am glad 
to see you. 

Sumner. Good day, Lieutenant. 

Lieut. Mrs. Kelton said I w T ould find you here. 

Enter Lotta. 

Lotta. Good afternoon, gentlemen. 

Lieut. Good afternoon, Miss Prescott. 

Sumner. I am glad to see you are looking better. — 
Plucks rose and presents to Lotta. — Accept this; its shade 
is a delicate contrast to the slight paleness that marks your 
features. 

Lotta. Thanks; would all roses were as sweet and 
sweetly given. I am in better spirits to-day, but time, 
even though short, will mark our countenances worn, as 
the influence of the sadness undergone, breaks way its 
sombre bonds. 



58 CHIHUAHUA. 

Enter Mrs. Kelt on. 

Sumner. Was I not promised, Mrs. Kelton, a peep at 
some of your old family heir-looms, those interesting relics 
of a past generation, and the old Virginia days? 

Airs. Kelton. Yes, indeed; you shall see them all; 
come right along, Lotta you may assist me. 

Sumner. Are you not coming, too? 

Hazel. No, the old are old to me; the Lieutenant and 
I have pored over musty tomes, spinning wheels and 
quaint medallions before, many times. 

Lieut. We'll leave you to the examination. Mrs. 
Kelton and Miss Prescott are most entertaining in their 
description of historical articles. — Exit Lotta, Sumner 
and Mrs. Kelton. 

Lieut. Hazel, since last I was with you, I have expe- 
rienced the untold agonies of one in love; visions of your 
mother's refusal kept rising up before me. 

Hazel. You should not be in love. 

Lieut. Little sweetheart of mine, you know full well 
were I not in love with you, you'd be the first to wish it # 

Hazel. Ah, indeed, are you so handsome then? 

Lieut. That's as you place me. And did you not, I 
would not be making love to the sweetest girl I've ever 
met. 

Hazel. And you think me so? 

Lieut. I've so told you, wrote you now going on the 
thousandth time. Yes, Hazel sweet, Hazel sweeter, 
Hazel sweetest of them all! 

Hazel. Bewitching as those dark-eyed, beautiful, ro- 
mantic daughters of the tropics; the Spanish senoritas — 
Ray? 



ACT III. 59 

Lieut. Come now, Hazel, that 9 s rough; because I 
happened to have lived a few months in close proximity to 
Mexico, you imagine I must be enraptured with Spanish 
loveliness: just you go to Mexico once, and see well the 
so-called charms of the Mexican women, and you will 
return and acknowledge to me how pretty you are. 

Hazel. To you, Ray, I may be pretty and sweet, as 
you have often told me; but others' 1 opinions of the ob- 
ject of your admiration, might not rise to your standard. 

Lieut. Hazel, darling, it is impossible for the criti- 
cisms of, others to differ from my own. 

Hazel. But suppose 

Lieut. What? Mama objects? 

Hazel. Objection always on your mind? Yes, what 
if the word is no? 

Lieut. Though no it be, I am determined even by 
desperate measures to make no synonymous with yes; a 
task not always difficult and often accomplished. But I 
cannot believe Mrs. Fremont capable of causing us such 
pain . 

Hazel. You do not know Mama, she is ruled by policy ; 
a virtue, the cause of much that appears heartless, but 
has an end in view. It is only today Grandma said Mama 
had laid dowm the law that reads for Lotta and I, wealth 
must be our husbands, matters not has wealth grey hairs 
or the idiotic expression of a gilded youth of fallowed 
brains. 

Lieut. I shall not have it no; though I am at the 
orders of ranked superiors, to do duty where and when 
they bid; I shall resign and enter mercantile life; less lofty 
as to asperations that surround it, but more forme in keep- 
ing with the times. The pursuit of increased gold lace 



60 CHIIIUAT/UA. 

and brass buttons, I'll change for the seeking of gold notes 
and silver dollars. 

Hazel. But I love that uniform so. 

Lieut. I know it darling, it helped me win you. 

Hazel. It did not. 

Lieut. Show me the woman that admires not the 
soldier's plumes. 

Llazel. How wise you are about what attracts the 
feminine eye. You have brown eyes, Ray. 

L^ieut. And you red lips. — Kisses her. 

Llazel. Did I say for you to kiss me? 

Lieut. Well, modest young ladies never ask, 
For what modest young men never take. 

Hazel. Then you are far from modest. 

Lieut. No, I am a soldier, and as you love soldiers — 
Kisses her. 

Hazel. I shall never ask for you to kiss me. 

Lieut. Not necessary; consent is given in three ways: 
by silence, in a look, and by a word. 

Hazel. You torment. Do you know I believe some 
one else is getting spoony here lately. 

Lieut. You don't mean to say I am, do you, darling? 

Hazel. Any one can see it, love; but I placed in com- 
parison to you Mr. Sumner; he shows his admiration for 
Lotta, O so often. 

Lieut. More than I for you? 

Hazel. He is not as sweet. 

Lieut. How can you tell? 

Hazel. How could he be ? 

Lieut. Lotta's views are different. 

Hazel. Well, there may be two brides yet in Grace 
Church. 



ACT III. 61 

Lieut. It may be Grace Church, it may be the office 
of some country justice. I saw he lost his heart the first 
night he came here; why he could monopolize a young 
ladies' company to the exclusion of others, in about as 
artistic a manner as one might wish to admire. 

Hazel. Yes, he was with me a great deal. 

Lieut. Now, you can't make me jealous, so don't try # 

Hazel. How susceptible men are; I wonder if he will 
tell her of it? 

Lieut. If Sumner does not, he is losing his courage 
fast, he is the nerviest man I have ever known; stops at 
nothing to gain a point: why one day in Casa Grande — 

Hazel. Yes, these brave men on the field or among 
their fellows, or in some great emergency, are as a rule 
such terribly timid creatures when they go to do a little 
love-making. Now you remember, dear, when you first — 

Lieut. Yes, darling, that — that's all right — I was — 

Hazel. O ! I am a soldier. 

Lieut. Here comes Mrs. Kelton; I heard her voice on 
the stairs. Luck to the lottery of a guess, she is alone. 

HazeL I must go, I heard the postman's whistle, a 
letter from Mama.- — Starts to go. 

Lieut. Holds her back. — Just one more. 

Hazel. Demurely. — You usually ask for two, and take 
a dozen. 

Lieut. Never fear, I will take a trial balance. — Kiss- 
ing her as Airs, LCelto7i enters. 

Airs. Kelton. I can understand why you take no in- 
terest in spinning wheels, medallions and cracked china. 

Hazel. O , G r a nd m a ! — Exit. 

Lieut. Mrs. Kelton, you have fairly caught us. 



62 CHIHUAHUA. 

Airs. Kelt on. Tut-tut, it's nothing; I've known it a 
long time. 

Lieut. I am happy then in the knowledge, you look 
at it favorably. 

]\lrs. Kelton. Don't let me see too much, you might 
make me envious; O, if I was'nt eighty years of age. 

Lieut. Fond of a joke still, Grandma? Do you know 
I fear Mrs. Fremont will oppose the match; even though 
Mr. Fremont gave his consent before he died; I am not 
wealthy. 

Mrs. Kelton. When I was young, though money had 
great influence, worth always received respectful recogni- 
tion. I know you to be worthy of Hazel's love, and shall 
assist you all it's possible for me to do. 

Lieut. Mrs. Kelton, I thank you; as I fought the 
Indians, so I shall fight for Hazel; with a strong determin- 
ation to win. 

Mrs. Kelton. Let us hope we will succeed. But do 
you think there exists ties stronger than mere friendship 
between Lotta and Mr. Sumner? I never noticed any- 
thing until up-stairs a short time ago, when we were look- 
ing at the heir-looms; Lotta seemed very anxious about 
my pet canaries, she thought James had neglected to feed 
them. 

Lieut. Ha! ha! as I suspected: old tricks, I have been 
right there 

Mrs. Kelton. I am well aware of it. It used to be pet 
canaries with Hazel, now Lotta is becoming interested: 
those birds of mine never looked so well fed before. They 
have about stopped singing. 

Lieut. Monte is a noble fellow. 



ACT III. 63 

Mrs. Kelton. I like him, his character appears excep- 
tional. 

Enter Cicero . 

Cicero. De dry goods man am come wid de samples, 
Missa Kelton. — Exit. 

Mrs. Kelton. Then I will send down Mr. Sumner to 
keep you company; the girls I shall need with me for a 
short time. — Exit. 

Lieut. As you will, Mrs. Kelton. 
Life, life; a yes, a no, at times, completes our destiny ; 
Is the die of our fate: matters not the power 
Of the being, from whom we are forced 
To take this aye or nay, it holds good, 
Unless a crisis arrives to sunder 
The spell for either ends of a question. 
And here's an unwelcome instance, 
Wherein I am forced to take the nay, 
And the sundering crisis '11 not arrive. — 
Takes from focket a fafer. Enter Sumner. 

Sumiier. — What! old fellow, you look bluer than the 
blues. 

Lieut. Thinking, only wondering; an idea that I men- 
tioned to Hazel, has just come to mind with redoubled 
force; that has scattered blue fancies far from my dispo- 
sition: though the countenance molds in looks, in keeping 
with the thoughts as a rule: and deep thoughts and blues 
appear with much the same marks. 

Sumner. Thoughts worth thinking should always 
receive attention: what is the title to yours, Miss Emory? 

Lieut. Yes, and the idea; I shall resign my commission. 



64 CHIHUAHUA. 

Sumner. No! Why, what's the merit of the trouble? 

Lieut. Hands letter to Sumner. — Read. 

Sitmner, Still a lieutenant? Come, that's discouraging, 
but don't 

Lieut. That's what it is to have swell and indifferent 
relations; two of which occupy influential positions in the 
War l}epartment: I reckoned on a pull. 

my relations,sweet relations, what worthies you are; 
And how I despise you, but cannot apprise you, 

For fear my chances it 'd mar; there's a fact. 

Sumner. In all places, and of all faces or races, 
Relations at times the most despicable are. 

Lieut. Give me a friend for a relation, 
To my approbation; but never a relation that far, 
That's as a friend. 
No, there is no money in my salary, there's more in mines. 

1 located a claim or two during my campaigns, that will 
pay development. I never noted the force of the money 
question till of late. 

Sumner. That which is good fortune does not always 
Appear to us at first sight in agreeable aspect. 
Speculate; there lies fortune's greatest favors. 
Go on the street and believe not all you hear; 
For many speculators omit the S, in the title 
Of their occupation: use care with such. 
Still if possible, never offend a speculator; 
Keep his friendship on the issue of a smile; 
And fail not to remark the fact, 
That though he may be penniless to-day, 
To-morrow might strike the opposite in his fortunes. 
No, hold him dear particularly does he place 
Greater stress on his own opinions than on points. 



ACT III. 65 

And I'll give you two points now ; in stock dealings 
With others, always be fortified with the newest 
Informations, (from where got, matters not). 
To keep them in an anxious state for a something 
Yet to come. We hope the stock — we stock on hope. 
Also; a man you'd ask favors of, if possible, 
Interest in a scheme, interesting to his pocket: 
Watch him love you. There's few exceptions. 
And push quick acquaintance with some insider. 

Lieut. Done, Arizona and Uncle Sam, adieu, 
I'll plunge Wall Street through. 

Sumner. I don't see but what such a course 
Would be a good selection. 
But remember, that while you are down 
To thunder all your works and talents, 
Also acting modest; 
And, when on the platform of success, 
Shape your deportment to your moods. 
Success to your certificates. 
Tell me, what of Miss Emory? 

Lieut. Monte, I'll have that girl if I have to elope 
with her. 

Sumner. What a change from your old ideas. u O, I 
prefer bachelor's hall; you are so free and independent." 
When you are in Miss Emory's company you look the 
very spirit of Garibaldi, ha! ha! 

Lieut. I was wrong, but don't you believe in marriage? 

Sumner. Of marriage I have a doubt if there ever has 
been or ever will be a more ennobling social institution. 

Lieut. As they say out West, " Pard, them'ar 's my sen- 
timents." Possibly I may require assistance in my love 
affair; can I count — 



66 CHIHUAHUA. 

Sumner. As Kent to Lear, so I to you. 

Lieut. Gracias amigo! Say old boy, tell me, are you 
in love? 

Sumner. I love her the most, who knows me the 
least. Yes, Lotta is the gentle answer of a wish, I shall 
marry her. 

Lieut. Bueno, bueno, Senor. When we were in Ari- 
zona, though we passed through some strange and severe 
trials, still I did not have the opportunity to know you as 
I wished, now I want to see more of you. You have a 
cool confidence I do not possess; Nature's slight, not West 
Point's. 

Sumner. Aside. — Those who have seen more of me 
often wish they had seen less. 

Lieut. Had Hazel a big brother now, he could win his 
mother over. I know she will object: but as no big 
brother exists I will vote you to the vacancy. 

Sumner. Elected. I will be Hazel's brother for she'll 
never have another. 

Lieut. I must tell Hazel you have found a sister. 

Sumner. Don't; she will ask you who I have been 
proposing to. 

Enter Lotta. 

Lotta. I have decided on a shade for the new parlor 
hangings; Hazel is still uncertain. 

LiezU. I guess I shall go and help her out. — Exit. 

Suimver. Go, Lieutenant, you admire the beautiful — 
Looks at Lotta; eyes meet— Lotta goes to wiitdow and 
looks out on falling snow. — Sumner follows, and with 

eyes on Lotta finishes sentence And so do I, 

How beautiful the snow, 



ACT III. 67 

Falling so lightly, so silently: 

Snow, c Pure as snow,' as goes the saying; 

Such a character makes its finding difficult; 

But when placed, is amongst womankind 

Found. Of men, it does rarely exist. 

Were all our characters spotless 

As the driven snow; the world would be 

The materialized idea of the creeds; 

Quite too monotonous, not fit to live in. 

Lotta. Once again, Mr. Sumner; why what cynical 
ideas compose your philosophy. I am going to teach you 
ethics more in keeping with the general view's. 

Sumner. Would that you could, Miss Prescott; but I 
fear your task will be discouragingly difficult. It would 
have to necessarily upset the principles bitter experience 
has taught me. 

Lotta. I am in sympathy with you, Mr. Sumner. 
Your life must have been a sad experience, your philosophy 
declares the fact: none but those who have born a weight 
of sorrow could speak as that: I too have suffered; but I 
know did we measure our sorrows, as blade to blade in a 
duel, you'd win the point of greater anguish. 

Sumner. My way has keen exceptional, others do not 
suffer as I have suffered. 

Lotta. Fortitude will win in the end. 

Sumner. There is a virtue often made too virtuous. It 
may win, it may fail; even when a lifetime of respect, it 
has received from some poor confiding mortal. 

Lotta. Then what is certain? 

Sumner. With a few exceptions, all is doubt; and the 
world usually chooses with few exceptions to believe itself 
one of the exceptions; in view of Fate. — Walks to a palm 



68 CHIHUAHUA. 

tree. — What a contrast, these waving palms, fan-leaved 
and thousand-ribbed; reflecting the light green tropic 
shades; look without; snow, ice and bitter cold: one 
warm, balmy, soft, fit representative of romantic climes; the 
influence of the other cold and cheerless, sways in its own 
way. O, a Mexican night: what memories, romances, 
traditions. 

Lotta. You love the South? 

Sumner. More than words can describe. The South 
is the land of the sentimentalist, the dreamer, the poet. 
I would to you, in poor words describe most complicated 
feelings in a poetic way; an admonition not to wish, and 
a question of the wisdom of the warning. 
Lotta. I should like to hear it. 

Sumner. Draws close to her, both seated on a rustic 
bench. 

Wish not to be, 
What thou canst not be: 
Yet, how wouldst thou know 
Thou canst not be 
What thou wouldst wish to be? 
Lotta. It is pretty; what would you wish to be? 
Sumner. Cannot you guess? 
Lotta. Shakes head wonderingly. 

Sumner. The lover of a soul, so sweet, so sympathetic, 
so beautiful ; of one in form and feature so lovable in my 
eyes. 

Lotta. Slightly hesitating. — Of whom? Who can be 
so beautiful to you? 

Sumner. Business. — Does he exist who has a better 
right than I ? 



ACT III. 69 

Lotta. No, Monte. 

Sumner. Kisses her. — I've won! I've won! 

Lotta. Archly. — Do all men love womenso? Is — is 
it — all such ecstasy of feeling — too difficult to describe — 
but — so — delightful ? 

Sumner. Some, not all. It depends upon the lover 
and the loved; the passion, the soul. Even villains love 
women just as much as so-called good and honest men, 
and they sometimes make ten-fold better lovers and sweet- 
hearts. 

Lotta. I don't think they could be sweeter than you — 
could it be you are a villain? 

Sumner. I must acknowledge it; yes Lotta; I am of 
a desperate type; I have stolen; I am a highwayman; the 
guilt of embezzlement is weighted upon me. So I shall 
continue; it is to the nature of my education, so firmly im- 
planted that all prisons, creeds and pledges, would not 
restrain the master passion of my character. 

Lotta. O Monte! What have you done? 

Sumner. Stolen your love and kisses. Don't tell, 
Lotta. 

Lotta. You tease. 

Enter Cicero with card. 

Lotta. Reads. — Mr. Bowie, Chihuahua. — Pro7iounced 
broadly. — Show the gentleman in. — Exit Cicero. 

Sumner. That's a good joke, ha! ha! I must give you 
a few lessons in Spanish, Lotta love. Chihuahua. — Giv- 
ing proper promtnciation.- -The two last h's are silent, 
the i is an e, u is an oo, and a is an ah. — Aside. — Who is 
Bowie? and from Chihuahua. — Walks to (L.) 



70 CHTHUAHUA. 

Lotta. Cicero misunderstood me. He is bringing the 
gentleman here, instead of the reception room. 
Cicero. Announces.— Mistah Bowie. — Exit. 

Enter Bowie. — Starts slightly on seeing Lotta. 

Bowie. May I see Mrs. Fremont? 

Sumner turns when Bowie speaks / gives a sharp 
glance at Bowie, who does not see him, and says very 
coldly and cooly. — Aside. — My father! 

Lotta. Mama is not in town; 1 do not expect her for 
two weeks yet; she has been very ill. 

Bowie. Are you — are you Miss Emory, may I ask? 

Lotta. No, I am her cousin. If you wish to see her I 
will send — Stai'ts to ring bell. 

Sumner. Steps forward qtcickly, hand extended, per- 
fectly composed. 

Bowie. Monte! Monte Em — 

Stunner. Lnterrupts quickly. — Mr. Bowie, I am glad 
to see you; when your card was sent in I did not dream it 
was that of my superintendent and old acquaintance. 
Allow me, Miss Prescott; Mr. Bowie. 

Lotta. Mr. Bowie, I am pleased to meet you. 

Bowie. Miss Prescott, I am delighted. It quite 
startled me to meet here the owner of the mine I represent. 

Sumner. Aside to Bowie. — My name is Mr. Sumner", 
from Tombstone. 

Lotta. One does meet old friends under such queer 
circumstances and in such unlikely places. 

Sumner, Yes indeed. 

Enter Cicero with card. 
Lotta. Takes card. — Senator Choate has called. Show 



ACT III. 71 

him to the library, Cicero. — Exit Cicero. — Gentlemen if 
you will excuse me for a short time. 
Bowie and Sumner. Certainly. 

Exit Lotta. 

Sumner. Father! Dad! 0, my father! is this reality? 
Here! you! after all these years? — and I, — I thought you 
dead, — I the poor fatherless, homeless wanderer. 

Bowie, Monte, my boy, and I thought you dead, I too 
the homeless vagabond, the outcast. This is too much! 
And this is the ending of a Hell on earth, to liYe as I have 
hYed? To find my boy at last, nine, long, weary years. 
To realize the truth is to ask an injustice of my under- 
standing. I saw you boy taken captive, and knew the 
tortures you would undergo; but you survived, liYed. 

Sumner. Then my eyes too did descry a mirage? it 
has continued a nine years delusion. I sighted as we 
turned to go, you left for dead upon the field; and Death 
made not its coming, another reaped. 

Bowie. I feigned death and by that escaped; but was 
badly wounded. The band hurried in their work, urged 
by a detachment in pursuit, or torture would have pro- 
longed as I thought the surely condemned life's spark. 
No doubt we have been near each other many times since. 
The Greasers abandoned the chase; and the Indians soon 
disappeared among the hills, bearing you. 

Sumner. Yes, I was held captive for three years; be- 
came a bandit, a calling forced upon me. Ah! but I have 
suffered! I know what it is. I escaped eventually, and 
have leased the world for my home ever since. 

Bowie. My poor boy, I too have suffered; how hard 
is life, how merciless is Fate. 



72 CHIHUAHUA. 

Sumner. Fate has taught me to be merciless; O man, 
your Hell is right here on this earth. 

Bowie. Monte, it is a bitter life. But what brings you 
here? in that question lies my greatest surprise. This is 
the house of your mother; my mission is to see her, recall 
a few forgotten memories, and reckon with the man who 
stole from me everything that I had to look forward to in 
this life. I've spent six years in a Mexican prison on 
charges barren of a just cause — 

Sumner. A Mexican prison! God! 

Bowie. And was liberated only a month ago. 
Previous to my incarceration the three years were 
but a record of lost or unanswered letters and aimless 
wanderings in Lower California, or I would have settled 
with Fremont years before. Where is he now ? I want 
to see him. — Draws pistol. 

Sumner. Takes pistol. — A fine weapon; it's polished 
barrel gleams ominously ; many are the scores you and 
your fellows have w T iped out. You'll serve a judge's ends 
in Arizona, but not here. This country is too civilized. — 
Aside. — Here the eye was a greater power than the noisy 
weapon. — Returning it to Bowie. — It is worthless for 
your purpose. 

Bowie. Why, what is the matter with it? I tested it 
only a week ago in San Antonio, Texas. I shall kill Fre- 
mont. 

Stunner. He's dead. 

Bowie. Dead ! dead you say ? no, 
It can't be possible I'm cheated; this long 
Wished for reckoning now'll be naught. 
In the weary hours of my captivity, 
It seemed that for end, there was no end; 



ACT III. 73 

I watched the dial of a little watch 

Kept secreted in my cell : 

And prayed that those slowly-turning hands 

Would creep on at a quicker pace, and time 

Would slip away in keeping with the action. 

One hope alone consoled me; that, to seek 

Fremont, and cry out at the meeting 

As has been done in cases similar, 

" Vengeance! vengeance is mine!" 

I was liberated; I have sought and not found 

The subject of my thoughtful moods; 

I cannot say now, " Vengeance is mine." 

Sumiier. Aside. — No, it is mine, but the honor will 
stretch for two. To Bowie. — No, no stain shall blot the 
old record; he died one month ago to-day; committed sui- 
cide in a fit of temporary insanity: so the papers said. 

Bowie. Disappointment, you and my future are of the 
same fraternity. Monte, how are you fixed? Though I 
was so far broke three weeks ago, that for being obliged 
to ride the brakes, a division; a rascally justice of Flagstaff 
called me a Hobo; ordered me to leave town in six hours; 
and a worthless half-breed Moqui intimated that my game 
of poker 'd not stand analysis. Yet I made a stake in 
Albuqerque at Faro and Three-card Monte. Remember 
how you received your name? Recollect how you won 
fifty dollars from Juan Torres, in El Paso, the night 
before we left for Chihuahua? 

Sumner. Yes, father, all. I am well fixed ; I recently 
received a large sum of money from some mines in Tomb- 
stone; my regular dividends: and also, just previous to his 
death, I remarked the remorse of Fremont; a change to a 
mood that favored much my claims. He made a will and 



74 CHIHUAHUA. 

by its provisions, forgetfulness of my right was not coun- 
tenanced. 

Bowie. Fremont repent! Is it possible? It was time. 
I am glad you got something out of him. But your 
mother, how did she receive you? 

Sumner. Received unrecognized; for I have changed 
in fifteen years. Was introduced by a friend of mine, 
Lieutenant Silverton; Fremont did not tell her of my 
being here, and he died directly after. Though originally 
Walter Emory, I have lived under the assumed name of 
Sumner for years; keeping only the nickname Monte, 
you used to call me by. None know me here; I do not 
wish it, and for awhile favor me and remain incog; there- 
fore to me before others you are Mr. Bowie; to me alone, 
my own father. But how came you to introduce yourself 
as Mr. Bowie? 

Bowie. I was afraid I'd not be admitted did I give the 
name of Emory. 

Sumner. Your foresight is a credit to your judgment; 
your fortune then in that is mine as well. Will not Mrs. 
Kelton recognize you? 

Bowie. What! the old woman still alive? 

Sumner. Yes, and resident here; good for ten years 
yet. The past has made few changes with you, still have 
a beard I see. 

Bowie. Where I was confined they did not shave the 
prisoners; it was too much trouble. 

Sumner. Leave it to me, I shall arrange it. Inform 
the girls the reason that you came to see Mrs. Fremont 
was to inquire concerning me: though it was a strange 
entrance. 



ACT 111. 75 

Bowie. I am to see Hazel then? She will not recognize 
me. 

Sumner. I think not, but forget not my caution; you 
are Mr. Bowie from Chihuahua. 

Boxvie. I'll be cautious. 

Sumner. John Emory died nine years ago, as did the 
boy. 

Bowie. They did. 

Enter Lotta, Hazel and Lieut. 

Sumner. Miss Emory, Lieutenant, my friend Mr. 
Bowie from Chihuahua, the superintendent of the Aztec's 
Legacy, a mine in which I have an interest. 

Lieut. Mr. Bowie. 

Hazel. Mr. Bowie, I am delighted. This is a freak of 
destinations and of homes; Lieutenant Silverton from Las 
Nogales and Fort Yuma, Mr. Sumner from Tombstone, 
and I again have the pleasure of an acquaintance with 
another resident of the Southwest. 

Bowie. Though a resident of Southern Arizona Dis- 
tricts for a time, many of my years have been spent on 
Mexican soil; the land of the cactus. 

Lotta. What romance surrounds that far-away country : 
the names are glamoured o'er strangely and weirdly; 
Apaches, Tombstones, and long Spanish and Indian words. 

Lieut. Ah! Apaches and tombstones, two of a kind 
which fail to ultimately meet until a long record of 
treachery and crime bring the extremes to one completed 
tale. 

Sumner. What a pensive thought for Arizonians; all 
Apaches under tombstones. 



76 CHIHUAHUA. 

Bowie. Aside to Sumner. — And this beautiful girl is 
my daughter? 

Sumner. That is my sister. 

Enter Mrs. Kelton. Bowie turns to one side on seeing 
her, and Stunner exclaims: 

Sumner. I thought I saw a mouse there. 

Ladies shriek, Lotta and Hazel jump on o/iairs, Mrs. 
Keltoti grasps skirts and exits. Lieut. looks for mouse 
and Sumner stands unconcerned. 

Hazel. O, where? where is it? Look out Ray! 

Lotta. Cicero! ring for Cicero! Take it away ! Mr. 
Sumner, get on the table. Look out Mr. Bowie. 

Sumner. Laughs.-— Ah Ladies, T ask your pardon, I 
see it now; it was but a draught that rustled the tassel on 
the portiere. You have nothing to fear, the coast is clear. 
But, come Mr. Bowie, we must be going; it is late. 
Ladies still on chairs. 

Lotta. What a fright you gave us. Are you real sure 
the little creature is not there, Monte — Mr. Sumner? 

Sumner. Quite positive. Helps her off chair, Lieut. 
/tetps Hazel off. 

Bowie. Aside.- -She calls him Monte, then corrects 
herself: so there dips the lead. 

Sumner. Aside to Bozvie ; all start to go.--The ruse 
succeeded; the old lady did not see you. 



END OF ACT III. 



ACT IV. 

Scene. — The Library. Tvjo months later. 
Enter Sumner, shown in by Cicero. 

Sumner. Today the will's seals are broken; 

I shall make known my real identity ; 

It will contrast oddly with the role I've played; 

But being fertile in the formation of excuses, 

I can trust my future to the ready thought. 

As I have noted my mother's character, 

My actual home-coming promises scanty revelry; 

But the forward question of such an hour, 

How is it all to end ? 

Enter Lotta withjlowers; arranges in a vase on center 
table ; does not see Sumner^ who takes seat in one comer. 

Lotta. vSweet Amaranth, fabled flower unfading; 
Be my love's companion forever, and its simile; 
For you, though mythical, will never die. 
Fictioned Amaranth, receive the respect 
I wish to bestow, while in this sentimental mood. 
Flowering Amaranth, my love for him though like 
To you in length of years, is still dissimilar; 
For my love exists, and you do not. 
How could the Amaranth that's naught, die? 
There is naught then to die in that: 
A slip of reason in that question. 



78 CHIHUAHUA. 

Its memory may seek the burial vaults 

Of long forgotten imaginings; and there ends 

What then exists. But hold, I'll place you 

Real, alive, to bloom companion to my love: 

Not of earth and water nursed, vain regret to sigh 

For what cannot exist: does there not exist enough? 

Here is a thought, grateful to this moment; 

Did it live; a living flower; a beauteous plant; 

Its fabled leaves be live; representative 

Of the imagined one whereof I spoke; 

T'would be subject to the evils of its fellows, 

And prey to death. The rude hand to break it, 

The negligent hand to water it, if I away, 

Would kill it. Then what becomes 

My love's synonym? Non-existent with me, 

Perhaps elsewhere, but the particular one is gone, 

The one I treasured most. 

No, back to the mind's fantastic realms, 

You fabled flower, you must not live to die, 

But live to never die. 

Beautiful Amaranth, my love; a twain, the same. 

Sumner. Who is he? 

Lotta. Why! I thought I was alone. Did you just 
come in. 

Sumner. Heard it all. But tell me, Lotta, who is he? 

Enter Hazel. 

Sumner. Good afternoon, Miss- Emory, another stormy 
day finds me here. 

Hazel. And you are indeed welcome; what is the 
latest news from Chihuahua? I have quite fallen in love 
with that marvelous country of the Southwest. I think 



ACT IV. 79 

Mr. 'Bowie is such a pleasant person, so well informed ; I 
have taken quite a fancy to him. Do you know he bears 
a striking resemblance to an old photograph of my father. 

Sumner. Indeed, Mr. Bowie is certainly calculated to 
prove himself interesting; he has traveled much and had 
many startling adventures. Miss Prescott, you — 

Hazel. Why don't you call her Lotta? Mr. Sumner, 
I shall leave and give you a chance. — Exit laughing. 

Lotta. Hazel, you should be ashamed — 

Sum ner. Why? 
Let others know your love is my pride; 
I could eloquently declare it to all the world, 
And yet not express the happiness of owning 
Such a possession. Love, love; 
As an exponent of the delightful passion, 
You brown haired witch, you eclipse them all, 
Who aspire to such pretensions. 

Lotta. Then you love me so? Monte. 

Sumner. Love, love you? The word expresses not 
The power 'tis said to represent; it falls short 
Of my affection. When in the rushing tide 
Of adversity, that might darken your path 
In future years, (for most all, there is such a time,) 
Remember well what now I tell you : 
You are mine, and will so continue till you die. 
No other in love's embrace shall clasp 
This waist, or kiss those lips, but I. 
This love is your first, it shall be your last. 

Lotta. Little I knew the power of love before. 
What is it? I cannot say. Did 1 possess 
The eloquence of a Webster or a Clay, 
I could not picture it as it is. 



80 CHIHUAHUA. 

I do not wish to know. To attempt to explain 

Would be to overstep the bounds of romance; 

Then appears the cold philosophy of nature. 

Reason, I do not want in love, love is sentiment 

And reason and sentiment are opponents: 

Two extremes that make the trials of life. 

He who can combine the two, is a character, 

An exception. I wish to be lost in sentiment's depths, 

To only know, that I love you 

And you love me; I care to know no more. 

Sumner, By that unconscious philosophy, my darling, 
You have declared Love's true inspiration. 

Lotta. But poor Hazel and the Lieutenant; I am 
afraid the path of love will be hard with them. Mama 
has such strict notions of what constitutes love; the foun- 
dation is gold, that is her dogma. 

Sumner. They will not have the great trouble you 
imagine. 

Lotta. I believe you Monte. You always speak in 
such a way as though what's wanted to be done is as good 
as done. 

Sumner. No, love, there will be two brides, two 
grooms to march to the music of Mendelssohn and 
Wagner. 

Lotta. Did you know Papa's will is to be read to-day? 

Sumner. Is it? I should like to be present to know its 
provisions; it may contain much of importance even to 
myself; he intimated to me once to that effect. 

Lotta. Yes, to all of us. Senator Choate will be here 
at two o'clock, he was Papa's lawyer. 



ACT IV. 81 

Sumner. Let me draw on my memory; was he not 
the gentleman I met the night of the reception, two 
months ago? 

Lotta. Yes, the same person ; he is one of the finest 
lawyers in the country ; he was in the United States Sen- 
ate for several terms. 

Sumner. I remember now. Did he not introduce that 
celebrated bill to pension — Exit with Lotta. 

Enter Lieut, and Hazel / do not see Sumner and Lotta. 

L^ieut. Tramps — no, no; the frontier boys are some of 
Nature's finest specimens of men. 

Hazel. I have been thinking you had better let me 
speak to Mama. 

Lieut. But to do that would be a poor commentary on 
my manliness. 

Hazel. Do not consider it so. Reflect how different 
Mama is from most mothers; I really believe I could do 
more than did you address her on the subject. 

Lieut. Very well, dear. You shall act as you have 
reasoned: the wish for your success will be the running 
subject of my anxiety. 

Hazel. She is coming now ; step into the conservatory to 
await the decision. — Exit Lieut. — My confidence of suc- 
cess is disturbed by dread, but it is better that I break the 
ice of uncertainty and suspense . 

Mrs. Fremont. Alone, Hazel? I am glad you are, 
I wish to speak to you on an important matter. I have 
noticed of late, that Lieutenant Silverton has paid you 
great attention ; have you encouraged him ? 

Hazel. Why Mama — Lieutenant Silverton — has been 
a little — in fact — I was — going to ask — if you — would 



82 CHIHUAHUA, 

Mrs. Fremont. Would what? 

Hazel. Con — sent. 

Mrs. Fremont. Is it possible it has come to this? do 
you inform me that he has proposed? that — that you have 
accepted him? he, does he flatter himself he is your 
chosen one? that he can marry you? 

Hazel. Oh, Mama! Mama! don't 

Mrs. Fremont. Hush child! he is not for } r ou. His 
attentions must cease at once. Why, what is he? who 
is he? Nothing but a common lieutenant; doomed to live 
the best portion of his life on the frontier with cowboys, 
or in Alaska with the Esquimaux. He is of good family 
and there his value ends. He is penniless. I did not in- 
tentionally introduce to my family a fortune hunter. 

Hazel. But — but — Mama — I love — him. 

Mrs. Fremont. Love! what is love? The cause of 
half the misery that holds the world in bondage. Has he 
been here today? I shall see him; his visits shall in future 
cease. 

Enter Lotta. 

Lotta. Oh! Mama! what would you do? What have 
you done? 

Hazel. Sobbing. — Lotta, Lotta. 

Mrs. Fremont. Stop child, stop! Let me hear no 
more. 

Lotta. Mama, think of Hazel's happiness; she loves 
the Lieutenant; think of yourself when you were a girl. 

Mrs. Fremont. Yes, I married for love, what resulted ? 
poverty, neglect and misery. I married again for money, 
the result, all the comforts money could buy: would you 
have been here today, in this house dressed as you are ? 



act /r. m 

your every wish gratified and all that wealth can give, 
had I not married Jackson ? 

Lotta. That is your own life, others have different 
feelings; have a little consideration for theirs. 

Mrs. Fremont. Lotta, you forget yourself; you know 
not w r hat you say. I have had years of experience you 
are innocent of the world's ways. 

Lotta. Then Mama, if that is to be Hazel's answer; 
give me mine; I love and am loved in return; I have ac- 
cepted Mr. Sumner for my future husband. 

Mrs. Fremont. I congratulate you on your choice. 
Mr. Sumner is . a perfect gentleman, a man of business 
and of the Avorld; though I know nothing of his family 
connections, he is wealthy. 

Enter Mrs. Kelton. 

Hazel. Mama, how can you be so cruel, so heartless? 

Mrs. Kelton, Now Matilda, why need you be so 
severe? The Lieutenant has expectations. 

Mrs. Fremont. Mother, stop right where you are! I 
have given my decision; if Hazel persists in his acquaint- 
ance, I shall cut off her inheritance. 

Mrss Kelton. Matilda! Matilda Fremont! What are 
you threatening ? The Lieutenant is a noble man ; he deeply 
loves Hazel and will make her happy. Hazel, continue 
true to the Lieutenant, you shall have my property. 

Mrs. Fre7nont. Mother! will you stop? I shall take 
Hazel to Europe this very week and remain until this in- 
fatuation of hers is cured. Do not oppose me; you know 
my will; do you wish to add more to my troubles? We 
shall see! — Starts to exit — Mrs. Relton follozcs. 

Mrs. Kelton. We shall see! I am nearing my eightieth 



84 CHIHUAHUA. 

year and yet owner of the old homestead; and Hazel and 
Lotta may count themselves as heirs to every acre, every 
inch. — Exit Mrs. Rclton and Mrs. Fremont. 

Lotta. Don't cry, Hazel dear, it may all be well yet. 
Ray is here, and he as the object of this trouble can add 
greater comfort than I, so will leave you. — Exit. 

Enter Lieut. 

Hazel. Ah, Ray! Ray 

Lieut. I knew it, I foresaw the result. Come, come, 
you will be mine yet; Monte will help me. 

Hazel. What can he do? 

Lieut. He will assist us in some way; I tell you he is 
a friend not owned at random. 

Hazel. Can't — can't we run away? 

Lieut. Exactly my plan; unless something favorable 
happens tomorrow, I shall steal you away in the afternoon 
to a justice' court in Jersey; the justice settles many cases 
of a life's pursuing sorrow. 

Hazel. Hope then will be my strength; to live alone — 
to live without you, I could not do. What is life without 
love? What is marriage without one you love. I almost 
envy Lotta; she has her consent but I am denied mine. 

Lieut. Those tears, my darling, are to me 
The saddest humor to the disastrous ending 
Of this well-meant and reasoned attempt. 
Fear not, I know there will advent brighter hours; 
Let this answer rest lightly on your thoughts; 
And remember, what some men may say, 
Will often mark a victory in a day. 
Here comes Monte. 

Hazel. Then I will leave you. — Exit. 



ACT IV. 85 

Enter Sumner. 

Sumner. The blues again, or thinking, which? Has 
Mrs. Fremont rendered her decision, that you look so grave ? 

Lieut. Yes; it is no she said for me, and yes for you: 
for you I rejoice; for myself I am miserable; most 
damnably so. 

Sumner. Then change the existing burden of the 
mood, take on a lighter one and become most damnably 
happy. Are you so weak as to allow a woman's will to 
overcome yours? If she were a queen and you a much 
be-chained and prisoned subject, you might well put the 
hour to fret; but on such slight occasion you have but 
need to exercise your courage, and at the end to exclaim 
I've won! I've won! 

Lieut. Right! vour reasoning never fails to give me a 
feeling of comfort; gloomy thoughts I am quite subject 
to: though a soldier's maxim should be, "Command your- 
self and you command an Empire." I fear the empire will 
never acknowledge the wisdom of my ways and reason, 
for the fact I cannot yet claim what needs me most at 
present. 

Enter Mrs. Fremont; Lieut, steps forward '; Sumner 
retires to oiie corner, unseen by stage. 

Lieut. Mrs. Fremont — 

Mrs. Fremont. We are on the same errand. Lieuten- 
ant Silverton, I did not imagine you would presume on 
the freedom of our social circle extended to you by me; to 
make love, propose and engage vourself to my daughter. 
Had I thought such would be the outcome, you would 
never have been admitted. Of you personally, I have 
naught to say against; the family which you represent is 



86 CHIHUAHUA. 

one of age and title, and they have my greatest respect; 
to you financially I have the greatest objection, which is 
most vital to the happiness of my daughter; my request is 
that your attentions and visits cease henceforth. 

Sumner. Aside. — "So mote it be." 

Lieut. Mrs. Fremont, to me you have extended as you 
say, a courtesy in the admission of myself to the social 
circle of which you are leader; but for me to speak, to 
dance, to be honored with your daughter's company and 
not love her, would be to charge me with a will of iron, 
a stoic's heart, two qualities I do not possess; to be a 
woman hater, to brand me as cold and heartless, unworthy 
a true woman's love. 

Mrs. Fremont. You are entirely too susceptible and 
should not run loose in society. 

Sumner. Aside.-— Ray might exclaim at intervals, 
' Girls beware, I'm silly.' 

Lieut. So it was my family that gave me the freedom 
Of your set. The American with a lineage 
Must have it backed with coin, or he stands 
Little chance with the foreigner, titled 
And insolvent. True my ancestry is influential 
In its name, but here for once it's ceased 
To work: yet the strength of a pedigree endures, 
And forms always an interesting theme 
To the untitled public of a republic; 
For there are they, that regard with awe, 
The noble rogues of other days. 
Were my ancestors feudal slaves, you'd not 
Hear the boast of heraldry valued by me 
In its moldy worth and memories; but being 
A patrician, born of patricians, I beg 



ACT IV. 87 

Your thoughtful consideration of the fact; 
And may its worm-eaten value never fade, 
Though I fear it has. An exponent 
Of the common herd, I'll feel disgraced 
To be thus viewed. Sweet slumbering 
Castled memories, abbied skeletons and 
Haunted lodge's tales; do bolster up my claim 
To be a descendant of a gouted race of nobles; 
Which avails me not. 

Permit me to say, that in my judgment the woman who 
values her daughter's happiness in life by the amount of 
ducates she will bring in the matrimonial market, is un- 
worthy of the name of mother. 

Mrs. Fremont. Sir! such language 

Lieut. That is all, Mrs. Fremont; I bid you good 
afternoon. 

Enter Cicero. 

Cicero. Sentah Choate am in de parlor. 
Mrs. Fremont, Show him in. — Exit Cicero. 

Enter Choate. Converses with Mrs. Fremont. 

Sumner. Aside to Lieut. — Remain, Ray, where you 
are. 

Lieut. I can't, old boy, I can't; it's against all rules of 
etiquette. 

Sumner. Don't place such value on etiquette; remain 
as a favor to me. 

Lieut. Well, for you then, awhile. 

Airs. Fremont. Rings bell. — You are prompt, 
Senator. 

Choate. I value promptness; it made my success in life. 



88 CHIHUAHUA. 

Enter Cicero. 

Mrs. Fremont. Acquaint Mrs. Kelton and the } r oung 
ladies that the Senator is here to read the will. — Exit 
Cicero. 

Lieut . To Sumner. The will! I was a witness to it. 

Sumner. Then it is well you remained. 

Choate. Ah, Mr. Sumner, Lieutenant; glad to see 
you, gentlemen. It is fortunate you are here, Lieutenant, 
you were a witness to this will. 

Lieut. Yes, I did attest to its execution. 

Enter Hazel, Lotta and Mrs. Kelton. Hazel starts to 
go toward the Lieut. 

Mrs. Fremont. Hazel, I want you with me. 

Choate. Good day, ladies. Now to unfold the mys- 
teries of this instrument. — Opens will. 

New York, Nov. 20, 18 . 

In the name of God: Amen. 

I, Jackson Fremont, a resident of the City, County and 
State, of New York; being of sound mind and memory, 
do of my own free will and accord, after all just and law- 
ful claims against my estate are paid in full, bequeath the 
following portions of properties, claimed by me and known 
as my own. To wit: 

Item First: To my wife, Mrs. Jackson Fremont; one- 
third of the aggregate amount of all real estate, stocks, 
bonds, bank accounts, and various commercial interests 
held by me. 

Mrs. Fremont. — A third! 

Choate. --Item Second: The remaining two-thirds of 
the aggregate amount of all real estate, stocks, bonds, 
bank accounts and various commercial interests held by 



ACT IV. 89 

me; go free and unconditionally to Mr. Montgomery 
Sumner, of Tombstone, Arizona. 

All surprised ; Mrs, Fremont attempts to speak; 
Choate motions silence. 

Item third: I further appoint - Mr. Montgomery Sum- 
ner to be the legal executor of this will, without bonds. 

In witness whereof, I hereunto set my hand and seal 
mti decree this to be my last will and testament, m pres- 
ence of these witnesses. 
[seal.] (Signed.) JACKSON FREMONT. 

Farnwell Choate, 
Witnesses: Attorney and Notary Public. 

Lieut. Ray Silvertox. Hotel Metropole. 

Horatio West, No. , Lexington Aye. 

Mrs. Fremont. What! The property left to Mr. 
Sumner ? 

Lieut. To Monte! 

Mrs. Kelton. Why! Why! this is strange ! 

Hazel. Mr. Sumner! 

Lotta. Papa and Mr. Sumner were great friends. 

Sumner, Aside. — Heayen conferred on me a talent, I 
put to good account; in consequence fortune assails me 
with her gifts. 

Mrs. Frejnont. Senator, have you read aright: leaye 
this" property to Mr. Sumner? 

Choate. Quite right, Mrs. Fremont. I confes- it does 
slightly astonish me. 

Mrs. Fremont. Impossible! How is this? Mr. Sum- 
ner, that you are made an executor of this property, and 
that you are a recipient of two-thirds of its value? Who 
are yon? Tell me that, sir? You were but a stranger to 



00 CHIHUAHUA. 

my house two months ago. Senator, I say that Fremont 
was insane when he made that will; I protest against it; 
it is an outrage. 

Choate. The will is valid. If ever a man was sane of 
mind, Fremont was, the time he wrote that will; is it not 
so, Lieutenant? 

Lieut. It is so. 

Mrs. Fremont. Yes, vindicate yourselves, conspirators! 
Choate. Madam, add respectful care to you speech. 

Sumner. If I may be left to a private interview with 
Mrs. Fremont, I can explain how Mr. Fremont came to 
make me an heir — 

Mrs. Fremont. An heir! 

Sumner. To his estate and its executor. Their existed 
a bond of friendship between us, stronger than the ties of 
husband and wife. If you will permit me, ladies and 
gentlemen. — All exit. 

Choate. Aside. — I remember now, when he eulogized 
Fremont, he said they were great friends. — Exit. 

Mrs. Fremont. Speak, sir! What is the meaning of 
this will? I never heard Mr. Fremont mention your name 
previous to your introduction to our house. 

Sumner. Not by the name of Sumner, no; but pos- 
sibly by the name of Emory. 

Mrs. Fremont. Emory! Emory! What of it? you'r 
not Emory ! 

Sumiter. No, were I John Emory, it would be a com- 
pliment to Nature's treatment of me that she should have 
kept the wrinkles from my brow, the silver from my hair 
for so many years. Hardly old John Emory, your first 
husband, but his representative by blood; I am Walter 
Emory your son 



ACT IV. 91 

Mrs. Fremont. My son ! You'r not my son ! he died 
in Sonora, Old Mexico, years ago; he and his father! 
You are an impostor — you are 

Sumner. Mother dear, your memory fails. Your 
accusations are unjust. Fifteen years make great changes, 
and I have changed. Mother, — Holds out hand. — 
Perhaps Mama would sound more like home; Mama 
dear, are you glad to see your boy ? 

Mrs. Fremont. Keep away from me! This is out- 
rageous! this — even were you my son, I care nothing for 
you; you are nought to me but a stranger: I shall not 
recognize you. 

Sumner. Aside. — The chilling atmosphere of my 
companion's company 
Makes merry with my sensitive feelings. 
My mother does not recognize me 
With maternal kiss and warm embrace; 
I'm quite at a loss of what to do; 
Shall I w x eep? And yet the world 
Will wonder why some men are cruel. 

Mrs. Fremont. I repeat, sir; how came this property 
left to you? Your claiming to be Walter Emory, answers 
not the question. 1 shall contest this will to the bitter 
end, not a dollar, not a cent, shall you receive. 

Sumner. That's for the judge to say. 
Do you realize that you cast shame 
On the sacred title of mother? 
You as that, are at level with the uncivilized; 
Uncharitable as the Hindoo that casts 
Her child to the crocodiles of the Ganges; 
She's impelled by religious motives, 
Your religion is Mammon worship. 



92 CHIHUAHUA. 

The Hindoo has more motherly love than makes up 

That passion of your soul. Of course 

In point of education there is a difference. 

This is a home coming: 

The prodigal and I, meet in extremes. 

Mrs. I?remo?tt. How came this will so? Why are 
you mentioned in it? 

Sumner. Fremont was the direct cause of my sorrows: 
He robbed my father of me, and a paying claim ; 
He robbed me of my father, and an inheritance. 
But fbr him I'd be a collegiate; instead 
The great, bitter, cold, heartless world, 
Did my education with experience as master. 
No regrets for that; 'twas a good thing 'twas so. 
Our bitterest woes are often our greatest blessings. 
I have found home at last — O, what a home — 
Not such a home as Paine immortalized in song. 
Had I tears, and I probably have; I might 
Shed them : did I rub my eyes with an onion. 
But to reply, Mrs. Fremont, Mama; 
I know not how it was, he must have repented 
On receiving the history of my life: I wrote 
Over a year ago, when in hard straits and 
Asked a partial consideration. 
The pity of his heart has spoken; 
Though I unanswered then, am answered now; 
A surprise as strange to me, as is to you. 
It was a crime of the soul, not of the hand: 
This will does tardy honor to his memory. 

Bowie is here being shown in y on seeing scene raises 
his ha7icl and stops the announcement of his -presence by 



ACT IV, 93 

Cicero, who exits, Bowie seats himself to one side, u?t- 
observed by stage, 

Mrs, Fremont, You'r no more to me, what once you 
were ; 

An intriguer now, then you were a child. 
By emotional eloquence, of fact or fancy, 
You have stolen what should be mine. 
Two thirds! why stop at two? 
He should have left you three. 
Where are your proofs, 
To make known to the law your right? 
For by another week you can testify 
To the probate judge this romantic story, 
Of how you hoodwinked an insane man. 

Sumner, I have but one proof, a gentleman that I 
appointed with to be here at this hour, but he has not 
arrived. 

Bowie, He is here. 

Mrs, Fremont, Turns quickly, shrieks, — John! — 
Sinks on sofa, showing great nervousness, 

Sumner, % You do honor to the virtue of promptness. 
Allow me, Mrs. Fremont, to make you on conversational 
terms with Mr. Bowie from Chihuahua. 

Bowie, Yes, Mrs. Fremont, fifteen years has been an 
epoch in our lives; but considering your memory for our 
son is deficient, it holds good for me. You readily be- 
lieved Fremont's tale of our deaths, and received a fortune 
in exchange for that belief; the gold I struggled for on 
the sagebrush plains and mountains of Nevada and Ari- 
zona, ultimately to find in the Sierra Madras. My part- 
ner conceived the brilliant idea of my starving in the 
mountains as compensation for my pains. Some waits in 



94 CHIHUAHUA. 

this life, at times are long, very long; but the wait is as a 
dog's tail, it has an end. Yet all can't reckon up; it is the 
boy's and my triumph now; that portion of the property of 
Fremont's formerly mine, falls to our son, Walter Emory, 
otherwise Mr. Sumner from Tombstone. Mr. Bowie 
and his son, Mr. Sumner, will undertake to enjoy life; an 
occupation they have never followed; but will attempt to 
quickly learn the duties of its following. — Takes Sum- 
ner^s arm and starts to go, walks to center door. 

Sumner. Aside to Bowie. — Leave the house quickly. 
I will meet you at the Hoffman, five sharp. 

Bowie. At five. — Exit. 

Sumner. To those without. — Your attendance now, 
ladies and gentlemen. — Enter all. — Senator, explanations 
have been in order and Mrs. Fremont understands. 

Chcate. I am happy to learn all points have been 
amicably settled ; it would hardly be in keeping with the 
house of Fremont, to have a legal squabble over the will. 

Mrs. Kelton. Matilda, you don't look well. 

Airs. Eramont. I — I — Hand to heart. — My digital 

Mrs. Kelton. Hazel, the medicine! Oh! Help! She 
is dying! — She is dead. 

Hazel. O, Mama, speak! only speak to Hazel. 

Lotta. Just a word, Mama; only speak. 

Choate. This is frightful, but may be she has only 
fainted. 

Lieut. Rings bell. — Enter Cicero. 

Lieut. A doctor, call a doctor quick! — Exit Cicero. 

Sumner. Aside. — An exit well accomplished. 

Lieut. Heart failure. 

Mrs. Kelton. At last; it's come at last; poor Matilda; 
I knew she would never stand another shock. 






ACT IV. 95 

Sumner. Aside. — Till future cause for change arrives, 
My father's name shall remain Mr. Bowie; 
I shall continue the alias my death. 
This family history must keep hidden 
Underneath the monument, inscribed, 
c To all that is mortal of old memories.' 
Therein sheltered from the world's inquiring gaze, 
Will be entombed the misty legend, the tradition, 
Known to me alone; another added mystery 
To the ancient Azetc Mine of Chihuahua. 



FINIS. 



EPILOGUE. 



Sumner. 

Why need there be an epilogue 
To this peculiar case? 
% Whereas in Shakespeare's time the tendency 
Was to write life as it should be; 
In this pedantic and interrogatory age 
We essay to write as existence is. 
A limited comprehension would not ask 
Who's the villain, but say I: 
'For if he's not a villain, what's the designation? 
Some will oppose the assertion. 
I am good, generous at times; in the 
Countless ways, that generosity and forbearance 
Is loved to be received by him or her or brute: 
Many stand to swear the fact with voice or look, 
If ingratitude has not dulled their love of me. 
Many will say I turn out too well; 
I might use the finale pistol, possibly 
Mesmerise myself to a never awakening 
Trance-like state, undying and yet dead. 
Rascals usually die in the last act; 
I don't consider this the last act, or I a rogue. 
How many sympathize with me? a great many; 
How many dare tell others of this sympathy? 
A very few. 



